Conor

  As his mouth moved over hers, she sighed and gave herself up to the

  pleasure that curled along her spine. In truth, it was what she wanted,

  as well. Above all else, she wanted this man. And this slow, sensuous

  passion that was building a fire deep inside. A fire that was

  threatening to become an inferno.

  When at last he lifted his head, he took in a deep draught of air. "But

  we must beware. By now the queen will havescoured the palace in

  search of us. If we value our heads, we must go. Now."

  He lifted the reins and the team started with a jolt.

  As they headed toward the palace, Emma struggled to ignore the

  twinge of guilt over the information she had just given Celestine.

  It was true that she loved Conor O'Neil. And wanted him as she had

  never wanted any man. But she couldn't put her own pleasure above

  that of her father and Sarah. It was for their sake that she had betrayed

  Conor's confidence.

  But even that knowledge couldn't stop the ache around her heart. For

  she knew that the man beside her would never be able to understand,

  if he should learn of her betrayal. Nor would he ever be able to

  forgive.

  Chapter Twelve

  "My lord, O'Neil."

  At the sound of the servant's voice, Conor looked up from the basin

  where he was washing himself.

  "Her Majesty bids you to come to her chambers at once."

  "Aye. Thank you." With a sigh of resignation he pulled on a clean

  tunic and prepared himself for what was to come.

  Elizabeth would be peevish. She was, after all, a royal accustomed to

  having those around her bowing and scraping, and seeing to her every

  whim. She would not lightly forgive the fact that he had deliberately

  disobeyed her command to be with her at court.

  As he made his way to her chambers, his frown turned into a smile as

  he began to warm to the challenge. He would find a way to charm her.

  Didn't he always?

  "So." The queen was standing in front of a tall looking glass while

  several servants finished dressing her for dinner. She peered at

  Conor's reflection as he made his way toward her. "My absent rogue

  suddenly reappears after keeping himself hidden from my sight the

  entire day." She waved the servants away and turned to glower at him

  imperiously.

  "You were seen leaving the palace grounds in a carriage with Emma

  Vaughn. What have you to say for yourself, Conor O'Neil?"

  "I must first say that I have never seen you looking lovelier. Majesty."

  He bowed and brushed his lips over her hand.

  "All those sweet words just fall like pearls from your lips, don't they?

  But flattery will not deflect my temper this time."

  "Nor should it, madam. You are the Queen of England. Entire nations

  bow to your will. I am but a mere man. And a most unworthy one at

  that." He knelt at her feet and lowered his head. "It would serve me

  right if you should banish me from your sight."

  "Aye. Banishment would be a fitting punishment." Elizabeth touched

  a hand to his hair. Her touch lingered, and she gave a sigh that seemed

  to come from the depths of her soul. "Except that I would be the one

  to suffer your absence. Stand, my rogue. I would look into those

  laughing blue eyes. For I need you to lift me out of this strange mood

  that has befallen me."

  He got to his feet and met her look. "And what mood is that,

  Majesty?"

  "Sadness. A great welling of sadness seems to have taken hold of me.

  First my handsome companion seeks the company of a mere slip of a

  girl who has neither beauty nor wealth enough to compete with her

  queen. And then Dun start and the others urge me to send soldiers to

  Ireland to put a stop to this latest insurrection before it gains favor

  with the Irish peasants."

  To his credit Conor managed to keep his expression bland. But his

  spirit plummeted. "To the first I say simply that you need have no

  fears. No lady compares with Your Majesty." Not a lie. But definitely

  not the truth where he was concerned. That mere slip of a girl had

  stolen his heart and was robbing him of his senses. "As to the second,

  tell me what you have decided, Madam, now that your advisors have

  spoken."

  "I am still mulling over all that I have been told. A part of me yearns

  for a chance to send a message to Philip of Spain. He thinks to punish

  me for spurning his proposal of marriage. And so he meddles in my

  problems with Ireland."

  "Would Your Majesty allow herself to be dragged into a war by an

  unhappy suitor?"

  She arched a brow. "However you choose to define it, wars have been

  fought for worse reasons, Conor."

  "Aye, Majesty. And what of my countrymen? Do you have any

  feelings for them?'

  ' 'Your countrymen are, like the Scots Highlanders, nothing more than

  barbarians."

  "Perhaps, Majesty, we are all barbarians. If so, we are not worth a

  war. What your advisors fail to warn you is that France watches and

  waits for a chance to find you distracted, so that she might intervene

  in your Scottish problems. Can you afford to divide your energies and

  your fortune on two fronts?"

  He saw the way her lips pressed together into a hard, tight line and

  knew that he'd hit a nerve.

  "You see? It is another reason why I must keep you by my side,

  Conor O'Neil. You are more worldly, more knowledgeable, than a

  score of my advisors put together. I had forgotten that you studied

  abroad, and have intimate knowledge of both France and Spain. So.

  Tell me. Would you have me reject the advice of my own Council?"

  "As queen you must consider what is most important, not only for

  yourself, but for your people."

  She nodded, thinking aloud. "Will I risk soldiers for the sake of a few

  unhappy peasants? Or will I simply wait, andhope that these Ulster

  barbarians end up fighting among themselves the way the

  Highlanders have?"

  She was watching his eyes as she spoke. And, he realized, hoping to

  catch some glimmer of his thoughts. But he had managed to suppress

  his emotions. Every day he learned to play the game as cunningly as

  those who surrounded Elizabeth at court. It wasn't a fact of which he

  was proud. In truth it would have shamed him, except for the

  knowledge that with every lie, he was keeping his father, his brother,

  his people free of English domination for another day.

  The queen's butler entered her chambers and stood at attention.

  Elizabeth nodded toward Conor. "Come. It is time we joined the

  others."

  At the entrance to the hall they paused while the queen's butler

  announced her to the crowd. Elizabeth swept imperiously into the

  room and made her way to the head table.

  As Conor took his place beside her he saw Emma making her way

  toward them. She was accompanied by the other ladies-in-waiting, as

  well as Dunstan and Blystone and the other nobles.

  This night Emma wore a gown of buttercup yellow, with lace inserts

  at the bodice, sleeves and hem. The neckline was daringly low, like

  all the gowns co
mmissioned by the queen.

  The moment Emma took her place at table, Elizabeth pinned her with

  a look. "Conor tells me you and he went for a carnage ride. Where did

  this rogue take you?"

  Emma looked with panic at Conor, and was stunned to see him

  wearing a lazy smile. A smile? What did that mean? She hoped to

  heaven it meant that she should tell the truths For she was simply

  incapable of lying to the queen, while all around her were watching

  and listening.

  ' 'He found me grieving over the news that my little sister had fallen

  from a pony cart and had broken a leg. Majesty.

  Conor insisted that I should see her, in order to calm my fears. And so

  he took me to my father's estate outside London."

  Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "That was a most thoughtful gesture."

  "Not nearly thoughtful enough, Majesty, for I caused you

  unnecessary concern." Conor managed to look contrite. "I should

  have sent word of my intentions through one of your servants. It

  would have spared you unnecessary worry."

  "Aye. It would indeed." Elizabeth picked up her goblet and sipped the

  wine.

  Emma did the same.

  Dunstan's dark gaze locked on Emma's. "Had you but asked, my dear

  lady, I would have been only too happy to drive you to your father's

  estate."

  "Thank you. Lord Dunstan." Emma gave him a halfhearted smile.

  "That is most generous of you."

  Not to be outdone, Blystone touched a hand to hers. "Perhaps you

  wish to visit again tomorrow, my lady. If so, I would be pleased to

  take you in my carriage."

  "You are too kind, sir."

  Across the table Conor found himself thinking again of the passionate

  encounter of a few hours ago. Even from this distance, he could taste

  her lips, and feel the press of her body on his. Just thinking about it

  brought a rush of heat. He drained his goblet in the hopes of putting

  out the fire.

  "You're quiet tonight, Conor." Elizabeth leaned close. "Are your

  thoughts on a possible war?"

  "Aye, Majesty." Making war was the farthest thing from his mind.

  But the thought of making love with Emma Vaughn had him

  sweating. And wishing with all his might that this interminable

  evening would end.

  * * *

  . "I will leave you now." Elizabeth stood, and the entire assembly got

  to their feet.

  Instead of asking Conor to accompany her, she turned to Dunstan.

  "Come, my friend. Since you have requested a private audience, you

  may accompany me to my chambers."

  Conor tore his thoughts from Emma. He'd been far too distracted this

  night. A dangerous miscalculation. "Perhaps you would like me to

  attend you as well, Majesty."

  She waved him away. "It isn't necessary. You've had your say. It

  seems only fair that I give Lord Dunstan a chance to speak his mind."

  As Dunstan brushed past he muttered, "You think you have

  persuaded Elizabeth in your favor, don't you, O'Neil?"

  "I think the queen is capable of making wise decisions without my

  influence, Dunstan."

  "So you say." Over his shoulder he whispered fiercely, "Perhaps,

  before this night is over, we will see if I still have any influence with

  my queen."

  Agitated, Conor waited with the others until the queen had exited the

  hall, followed by Dunstan and the ladies-in- waiting. Then feigning a

  yawn, he casually took his leave, and made his way to his own

  chambers. Minutes later, dressed all in black, he slipped out his

  balcony and made his way to the queen's chambers.

  He had made it a point to go over every room in the palace, Peking

  out places where he might conceal himself. With so many soldiers

  and attendants surrounding the queen, it was imperative that he learn

  as many hiding places as possible.

  In a musty storage room he pressed his hand to a panel and watched

  as it slipped open soundlessly, revealing a small enclosure just

  beyond the queen's sitting chamber. When he had stepped inside, the

  panel closed behind him.

  He waited a moment to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness,

  then turned toward the door. But before he could pull it open, he

  realized he wasn't alone. Someone was beside him in the darkness.

  With a muttered oath he pinned the shadowy intruder's arms to

  prevent an attack, then clapped a hand over the mouth. It was then

  that he recognized Emma.

  "Are you mad?" he demanded harshly.

  All she could do was shake her head.

  "I'm going to let you go," he muttered against her ear. "If you make a

  sound, we'll both be discovered. Not a word. Do you understand?"

  She nodded.

  He released her. But before he could demand an explanation, the

  sound of the queen's voice caused both their heads to jerk up.

  "...suggesting we go to war at once?"

  Conor slipped the door open just a crack, enough to see Dunstan

  pacing in front of the fireplace.

  "It is our only hope of suppressing these savages, Majesty."

  "And what if, as Conor O'Neil suggested, France should decide to use

  this opportunity to press the Scots Highlanders into attacking while

  our soldiers are occupied on foreign soil?"

  "I would expect such a suggestion from O'Neil. He will say whatever

  is necessary to keep our soldiers out of his country."

  "Aye." Elizabeth's eyes flashed. "I have no illusions about the rogue's

  loyalty. But he makes a strong point, Dunstan. Will I be remembered

  as the monarch who left her realm helpless in its time of need?"

  ' 'Are you willing to allow these Ulster chieftains to continue their

  quest for arms?"

  "They are pitifully few in number, Lord Dunstan. Without the aid of

  Spain, they cannot hope to mount a war against England."

  "Aye, Majesty. But what if Spain agrees to join them?"

  Elizabeth began to pace. At length she turned to him. "My head aches

  with so many conflicts demanding my attention. Leave me to my rest,

  Dunstan."

  "Aye, Majesty."

  From his position, Conor watched as Elizabeth offered her hand, then

  withdrew to her sleeping chambers, while Dunstan took his leave.

  As soon as the room grew quiet, he caught Emma by the arm and

  dragged her along the hallway to her chambers. Once inside, he

  glanced around and, seeing that they were alone, barred the door.

  Emma could read the temper in his eyes and found herself backing

  away. With each step she took, he stormed ahead.

  "Now you will tell me what you were doing."

  She bumped into the wall and froze, then straightened her spine. "The

  same, it would appear, that you were doing."

  "Spying?" His eyes narrowed.

  For the space of a moment the word hung between them. Now that it

  had been spoken aloud, Emma realized the enormity of what she had

  done. She had been spying on the Queen of England. The penalty for

  such a crime would surely be hanging. Or the Tower. Then a second

  thought assaulted her. Her mouth rounded in surprise.

  "And you were doing the same, Conor O'Neil. Spying on the queen."

  In the silence that fol
lowed, those penetrating eyes seemed to be

  studying her with calculated interest. And then he said, through

  clenched teeth, "Who sent you here, Emma? Who sent you to spy?"

  Her chin came up in that infuriating manner. "I didn't admit to being a

  spy, any more than you."

  "You don't need to." Of course. It made perfect sense now. "I

  suddenly realize why you seemed so unsuitable in this role you've

  been assigned." He caught her roughly by both shoulders and nearly

  shook her in frustration. "Tell me who sent you."

  Her heart was pounding so violently, she was certain he could hear it.

  But to her credit she held her silence and forced herself to meet his

  stormy look without flinching.

  "Ah, lass." The hands at her shoulders abruptly softened their grasp.

  His tone softened as well. "I should have known. That fierce loyalty

  to Ireland. The way your voice sounds whenever you speak of it. And

  those connections. Your uncle a bishop. Your great-uncle closely

  aligned with my father. Our mission, it would seem, is the same."

  "The same?"

  He smiled and touched a finger to her lips. "Aye. To spy for Ireland."

  Seeing the look in his eyes, Emma averted her gaze. She could tell

  him the truth this very moment. Or she could go on with this charade

  and allow him to believe that they were allies. The moment stretched

  to two, and she knew in her heart that it was already too late. She

  couldn't bear to see that look of love turn to one of hate. No matter

  what the cost, she would keep her secret to herself.

  "Emma. Emma." He framed her face with his hands, and brushed his

  mouth over hers. The merest whisper of lips to lips. But it had her

  breath backing up in her throat. "Now I know why you've managed to

  touch me as no other woman ever has." He gathered her close and

  covered her mouth with a searing kiss. Inside her mouth he

  whispered, "We're kindred souls, Emma."

  The pain around her heart was so great, she feared it might shatter like

  glass.

  Suddenly, from the hallway came the sound of the queen's imperious

  tone. "Emma Vaughn. Awake and open this door at once."