anything more than a friend.
Chapter Seven
Conor awoke with a start. For a moment he was puzzled by the
unfamiliar warmth in the bed beside him. The room was in darkness
except for the faint light from the glowing coals in the fireplace. He
turned to see Emma curled up like a kitten, with her small hand
tucked into his.
How long had he been here, asleep in her bed? Too long, judging by
the sounds of muted footsteps and swishing petticoats in the hallway
outside her door. Very soon now a servant would be coming to stoke
the fire and light the candles as the household awoke to another day.
If the queen's favorite companion should be found asleep with one of
the young ladies-in-waiting, the palace would be alive with the
scandal by the end of the day.
He studied the spill of silken curls against the pillow, wishing he
could take a minute more to watch her. How sweet she was. How
innocent. Aye. Innocent. His smile faded. He would do well to
remember that in the days and weeks to come.
There had been more than a few heated moments during the night,
when she'd pressed her cheek to his, or touched her lips to his throat,
that he'd been nearly swamped with need. Perhaps, if she had been a
different kind ofwoman...he shook his head. Emma wasn't the kind a
man could casually enjoy and then leave. He sensed that Emma
Vaughn was a woman who would become a fever in a man's blood.
Once would only whet the appetite for more. Emma was the kind who
deserved the promise of a lifetime. And that was something he could
never give. For his life was already pledged to this dirty business he
did for his country.
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed the softest of kisses to her
delicate flesh. Then he slid from the bed and made his way across the
room. With his ear to the door he waited until the footsteps receded.
Then he slipped quietly away and hurried to his own suite.
A ride, he decided, would be the best way to shake loose the fog that
seemed to have enveloped his brain this morning. He was in a
strange, almost melancholy mood.
He pulled on his tunic and made his way to the stables. And all the
while he found himself brooding about the scene at dinner the
previous night. It wasn't just the poor beggars, one who was now
dead, the other rotting in Fleet. Or the fact that their tale of intrigue
made no sense at all. Or that he had, in a fit of temper, revealed a part
of himself better left concealed. It was also Dunstan and the others
surrounding the queen at court. They had actually laughed and jeered
as those poor fellows were dealt with in such a harsh manner. The
more time Conor spent with these people, the more shallow they
revealed themselves to be.
"Good'morrow, sir." The stable boy led his mount from the stall and
held the reins while Conor pulled himself into the saddle.
"Good morrow, Meade."
"You've a fine day for a ride, sir."
"Aye."
"You'll be riding alone?"
Conor nodded. And as he guided his mount along a wooded path
toward the distant meadow, he found himself brooding again. Alone.
Sometimes, in this opulent pleasure- palace, surrounded by wealthy
titled ladies and gentlemen, he felt completely alone. He looked like
them. Dressed and talked like them. Made them laugh. Charmed
them. And yet there were times when he felt as though a wall had
been built between himself and them. For he could never think like
them. Nor did he want to. And so he remained alone. He kept his own
counsel. He shared his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams with no one.
He gave his horse its head and felt the breeze fill his lungs and toss his
hair. He was so weary of the game. But there was no turning back.
He'd given his word. He did this for family, for friends, for country.
For Emma.
The thought startled him. But as he digested it, he found himself
Smiling despite the darkness of his thoughts. Aye. For Emma. The
innocent Irish lass who, like him, found herself alone.
"Wake up, my lady." The servant touched a hand to Emma's shoulder.
"Umm. Not yet." Emma smiled and reached a hand to the pillow
beside hers. It was still warm. She traced the imprint of the head that
had rested there.
Suddenly she sat bolt upright. She had fallen asleep in Conor's arms.
And through the night, whenever the pain had awakened her, she had
been soothed by his presence beside her in the bed. Her eyes widened
as she glanced around. She sighed with relief when she realized he'd
managed to slip away before they'd been found together.
"What is it, Nola? Why do you disturb my sleep?" Emma demanded
of the servant.
"My lady, you must let me help you dress at once. Her Majesty sent
word that she will be visiting your chambers as soon as she has
broken her fast."
' The queen? Here?' Emma glanced around the room in
consternation. Had Conor left any of his belongings behind? Would
the queen notice the disarray of bed linens and guess that she'd had a
visitor through the night?
"Aye, my lady. Her Majesty ordered a tray sent to your room, and
said I was to see to your toilette at once."
"Did the queen say why she would deign to come to my humble
chambers?"
"Nay, my lady." The servant filled a basin with warm, rose-scented
water. "Shall I help you wash?"
Emma shook her head, struggling to clear the cobwebs of sleep. "I
can manage it by myself. But first I need an opiate for the pain."
The servant filled a glass and sprinkled a packet of powder in it.
Emma drank gratefully, hoping it would take effect quickly. As she
washed and dressed, she fretted over the reason for the queen's visit.
A monarch such as Elizabeth never humbled herself to set foot in the
lowly chambers of others. It had to be because of Conor's nighttime
visit. Someone must have seen him come in. And now a jealous
Elizabeth was about to order her to leave. Sweet heaven. She would
be banished in disgrace. And the blood of her father and sister would
be on her hands.
"Hold still, my lady. Why, this gown's so big on you, it's apt to fall
clear off if you walk too fast."
"No matter. Just tighten the sash." Emma was so distracted, she didn't
even bother to look in the mirror.
What would happen to Sarah and her father now? She would never
see them again. She would be alone. And penniless.
"Here, my lady. Sit and I'll brush your hair."
Like a sleepwalker, Emma sat, her mind awhirl. She was so agitated,
she could hardly sit still as the servant combed and brushed and
pinned.
"That's the best I can do, my lady. You've lovely hair. But with that
gown..."
"Thank you, Nola. You may leave me now."
"Aye, my lady."
The servant scurried out just as several other serving wenches
entered. While one carried a tray to the small round table set in front
of the fire, another servant began to make up the bed and fold the bed
linens.
"Did you hear that Her Majesty is coming?" The servant's tone was
hushed with awe.
Emma nodded as she picked at a biscuit. "Aye. Do you know why?"
"Nay, my lady." The servant bustled about, opening draperies, seeing
that the door to the wardrobe was neatly closed.
When the room was spotless, the serving wenches hurried away,
leaving Emma alone.
Perhaps it wasn't Conor's nocturnal visit that was bringing the queen
to her suite. She began to pace. Perhaps Elizabeth wanted to see for
herself how the wound was healing. Still, if that be her reason, she
could have satisfied her curiosity with a simple question of the
servants.
Even the pain in her arm was dull in comparison to the fear that was
beginning to wrap itself around her heart.
By the time the chirping of female voices announced the arrival of the
queen, Emma had worked herself into a state of pure panic.
' 'Did you have a good ride, sir?' Meade caught the reins as Conor slid
from the saddle.
"Aye, lad. I'm feeling much improved." Indeed he was, he thought, as
he sauntered toward the palace. The freshair had cleared his mind.
The sunshine, warm upon his face, had brightened his outlook
considerably.
He squared his shoulders, ready for another day of political intrigue.
If the queen called upon him to play the fool, he would do it with
ease. If he had to listen to Dunstan's ramblings about the Irish
peasants, he would manage it without allowing any hint of the anger
that simmered just beneath the surface.
"Good morrow, my lord." As he strode into his chambers a little
servant blushed and bowed before emptying a pitcher of water into a
basin. "Her Majesty's maid left word that you are to join Her Majesty
as soon as you are presentable."
"I suppose that means she expects me to see that I don't smell of
horses." He laughed at his little joke. "Send word that I will join Her
Majesty in her chambers as soon as I've washed and changed."
"Aye, my lord." The servant bowed again before adding, "But Her
Majesty will not be in her chambers."
"Where then?"
"I was given to say that she would meet you when she left the
chambers of Emma Vaughn, my lord."
Conor turned away to hide his surprise. The queen had gone to
Emma's room? This didn't bode well for either of them. He musn't
have been as cautious as he'd thought. Someone must have spotted
him leaving the lass's chambers.
They were in for it now.
Conor's stride was swift and impatient as he hurried along the
hallway. Drops of water still glistened in his hair. He'd barely taken
time to dry himself and dress in a clean tunic before going in search of
the queen.
This was all his fault. Emma hadn't invited him into her chambers.
He'd invited himself. And though she'd asked him to stay, he'd needed
no coaxing. If truth be told, it had been the most pleasant night he'd
spent since his arrival in England. And now his head would roll. And
Emma's too, unless he found the right words. He didn't mind for
himself. But Emma was the innocent party in all this. He would have
to make Elizabeth understand that.
He was still rehearsing his words when he skidded to a halt outside
the door to Emma's suite. From inside he could hear the sound of...
laughter.
Laughter? Was Elizabeth heaping ridicule upon poor Emma? In front
of all her ladies-in-waiting?
He felt a surge of righteous indignation and rapped loudly on the
door.
A serving wench opened the door a crack and peered out. "Yes, my
lord?"
"Tell Her Majesty that Conor O'Neil is here."
"Aye, my lord."
The door closed. He heard another round of laughter and was about to
shove the door open and leap to Emma's defense when the door was
suddenly opened from within. He nearly fell forward before he
managed to regain his balance.
"Her Majesty says you cannot come in just yet."
He pressed a palm to the door before she could close it. "But I am
here at Her Majesty's bidding."
The girl glanced over her shoulder, then back at Conor. "You cannot
come in just yet, sir."
Desperation made him bold. The girl's strength was no match for his.
It was an easy matter to push the door inward. "I'll not be turned away
until I see for myself what is going on here."
The queen and her ladies-in-waiting were sitting in a circle around
Emma, who was standing on a stool, wearing nothing but her chemise
and petticoats. Several women knelt on the floor, holding up bits of
fabric, ribbon and lace.
Several others stood around Emma, holding what appeared to be bolts
of colorful silks and satins.
The moment Emma spotted Conor she let out a shriek and the others
followed suit.
"Oh, no." Emma crossed her arms over her bosom and, for the space
of several moments, seemed unable to move. Like the deer they had
spotted in the meadow, she simply froze.
The scene seemed frozen in Conor's mind as well. The sight of her, in
scanty undergarments, made the blood pound in his temples.
Then, as Emma gathered her wits, she leapt from the stool, knocking
it over in her haste. Her voice was high- pitched in distress. "Conor
O'Neil. Whatever are you doing in here?"
"I came to see..."
Before he could explain, more shrieks followed. "I'll die of shame. I'll
simply die." With that she dashed into her sleeping chamber and
slammed the door shut.
The queen and her ladies remained where they were, clearly enjoying
the spectacle.
Especially enjoyable was the look on Conor's face. What in heaven's
name had he walked into?
He glanced from the queen to the others. "What's going on here?"
Elizabeth's tone was haughty. "I might ask you the same, Conor
O'Neil. Didn't my servant tell you that you were not- welcome in
here?"
"I thought..." He bit back the words that sprang to his lips. A little
warning bell went off in his mind. Emma had not been weeping when
he'd entered. She'd been laughing. As loudly as the others. Whatever
this was, it was not a scene of the queen's vengeance.
If he were to do as he'd originally planned, pleading Emma's cause
with the queen, he would simply do more harm than had already been
done. He managed to assume the air of a man who knew a secret, and
wasn't about to share it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he fixed the
queen with a dangerous arch of his brow. "I thought I would just enter
without invitation."
"Oh, you wicked, wicked rogue. I should have guessed." Elizabeth
walked to him and placed a hand upon his arm. "You knew all along
what we were doing in here. And you just wanted to embarrass our
little innocent."
He gave her what he hoped was a knowing smile. ' 'And did I?
Embarrass our little Emma?"
"You did indeed. Why, it's the fastest she's ever moved." Elizabeth
put a hand to her mouth and giggled like a
girl. "Did you hear her say
she'd die of shame? She had better get accustomed to being looked at
by men. When we've finished with her, everyone at court will see a
great deal more of her than they have in the past."
"Finished with her?" Conor caught himself and added, "You haven't
finished yet, Majesty?"
"Nay. But that was to be the last fitting. Now the seamstresses will
ply their needle and thread until our poor little Emma has a wardrobe
fit for the queen's lady-in-waiting."
Conor caught himself before he could sigh in relief. ' 'A wardrobe?"
"Aye." She gave him a flirtatious smile. "As if you didn't know. Who
told you?"
His mind raced. "I believe it was the whispering of some servants."
"I should have known. I suppose by now it's all over the palace."
"Aye, madam. There are no secrets here, as you well know."
"Ah, well." The queen turned to the others. "Come. You will join us
for a stroll in the garden. We'll leave the seamstresses to their work
with dear little Emma."As she walked from Emma's room and headed
toward the door Conor prompted, "About this wardrobe?"
"Aye. The wardrobe. I thought it was the least I could do to make it up
to Emma for that horrid incident. After all, it was I who insisted that
she accompany us on our ride, Conor. I feel responsible for what
happened to her. And then that race. All for the sake of an article of
clothing. Nasty business, that. She was forced to endure a great deal
of pain on my behalf. And you must admit, she does need clothes that
fit."
He paused and turned to her. "You're very kind, Majesty."
"Indeed I am." She threw back her head and laughed. "Of course, I
had my own reasons. The child is an embarrassment. After all, how
does it look for one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting to dress like a
beggar's wife?"
As they stepped into the garden, Conor glanced up. Emma was
standing at her window, bathed in a pool of sunlight. Her neck and
shoulders were bare, her hair spilling around her face like a veil. For
one brief moment she stood perfectly still, staring down at him. Then
several women circled around her, holding up their bolts of fabric.