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    Conor

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      to watch while his own sweet maiden is ravished. And who better to

      have his way with Emma Vaughn than I? After all, you interrupted

      me once." His tone hardened. "And I've never forgotten. Nor

      forgiven."

      "What's to keep me from killing you while you're... otherwise

      occupied?' Conor could barely get the words out from between

      clenched teeth.

      "You won't try. Not while I have this knife at her lovely throat."

      Dunstan made a sudden move with the knife, slicing the front of

      Emma's tunic. As it fell open, he ran the blade of the knife along the

      edge of the delicate chemise.

      "Such lovely, unblemished skin, my dear." He flashed a grin at

      Conor. "It would be a pity to carve up such pretty flesh, wouldn't it?"

      In one quick movement he sliced through the chemise, baring

      Emma's breasts.

      "Ah." He circled one breast with the tip of his knife, his eyes boring

      into Conor's as he did. "This is even better than I'd hoped. Just seeing

      the look on your face, O'Neil, makes this infinitely more satisfying

      than your hanging will be."

      Conor gauged the distance between them, wondering just how much

      damage Dunstan could inflict before he could disarm him. It would

      surely cost Emma some pain. But perhaps, if he were quick enough,

      he could save her life. He had to risk it. Not for himself. He was

      already a dead man. But for Emma's. For he knew, with all certainty,

      that Dunstan would never permit Emma to live when this was over.

      He had to distract Dunstan. "It was Celestine who forced Emma to

      spy, wasn't it?"

      Dunstan laughed. "An easy matter, really. Though sweet Emma

      protested, she was far too tenderhearted to put up much resistance."

      He moved the knife across the flat planes of her stomach and laughed

      when she flinched. "Celestine was quite surprised when I told her the

      two of you had become lovers. She thought our sweet Emma too shy

      for that."

      Conor kept his eyes on Emma's, fervently wishing he could let her

      know what he planned. "So, Celestine was lying when she said she'd

      ordered Emma to seduce me."

      Dunstan threw back his head and laughed. "You mean you believed

      her?"

      "Of course he believed me, you fool. What right do you have to say

      otherwise? Now you've spoiled everything."

      At Celestine's voice, Dunstan turned. That was all the distraction

      Conor needed. He lunged forward, snatching Emma from Dunstan's

      grasp.

      "No. Damn you!" With a savage oath Dunstan advanced, aiming his

      knife for Conor's heart.

      Conor dodged, then brought his head up under Dunstan's chin,

      hearing bone grind against bone as Dunstan's jaw was broken. The

      knife slipped from his fingers and fell in the grass.

      With a cry of rage Dunstan managed to wrestle Conor to the ground

      with a knee to his midsection. As the two men rolled around, they

      fumbled for the knife. When Dunstan managed to snag it, he lifted it

      in triumph, prepared to plunge it deep into Conor's chest. But just as

      he raised his hand, he suddenly stiffened, then fell forward. In his

      back was Emma's knife.

      "Oh, my love. No," Celestine screamed as she darted toward him.

      Conor, disentangled himself from Dunstan's body, then looked up in

      surprise as Emma swung a heavy tree limb, catching Celestine at the

      back of the head. She slumped forward, her body resting atop

      Dunstan's.

      In th® silence that followed, Emma dropped to the ground, her face

      pale, her breathing shallow.

      Without a word Conor knelt and gathered her into his arms, where he

      rocked her gently, while his hands moved over her, rubbing heat back

      into her cold body. Against her temple he whispered, "It would seem

      that I owe you a tremendous debt, my lady. For once again you've

      saved my life."

      Despite the tremors that thundered through her, she managed a husky

      laugh. "Would you mind if I wait to collect that debt? I'm a bit too

      weak right now."

      "Aye. Take as long as you wish."

      He reached inside his tunic and removed a scrolled parchment, setting

      it alongside Dunstan and Celestine.

      "What is that, Conor?"

      ' 'The proof of my claim that it was Dunstan who plotted the death of

      the queen. The prisoner in Fleet told me all, in the presence of his

      jailer."

      They both looked up at the sound of voices growing near.

      Seeing her exhaustion, Conor lifted Emma into his arms and pulled

      himself up to the saddle. Minutes later, the horse and riders blended

      into the line of trees and disappeared deep into the forest.

      The boat sliced silently through the black waters, leaving the lights of

      London far behind. Though it was a dark, moonless night, the

      fisherman needed no stars to guide him. He'd made this journey

      hundreds of times.

      Boats passed him. Fishing boats. English merchant ships. Each time,

      he saluted smartly, then continued casting his nets before moving on.

      All night the little boat bobbed in the choppy waters, braving the chill

      wind off the Irish Sea. Then, just before dawn, the motion of the boat

      gentled. The fisherman leapt over the side and began to haul his craft

      to the shore of a rough cove.

      Once the boat was on dry land he tossed aside the pile of hides,

      revealing two bloody figures huddled beneath.

      "'Tis safe now, my lord."

      "Thank you, Brian."

      Conor stood stiffly, then helped Emma over the side of the boat. As

      soon as they disembarked, the fisherman shoved off, heading back to

      deep water.

      Conor and Emma stood in the shallows, letting the cold water splash

      against their aching flesh as they watched the little craft ride the

      waves.

      Then they turned and made their way to where an old farmer stood

      beside his horse and cart.

      He doffed his hat, then helped them into the back, where they nestled

      into a mound of soft hides. As he flicked the reins, the horse started

      forward. The gentle motion of the horse and cart lulled the two

      instantly to sleep.

      It was the change in the air that had Conor instantly awake. He sat up,

      brushing the hair from his eyes. Beside him, Emma awoke and lay a

      minute, struggling to get her bearings.

      The little cart was passing through a gap in the mountains. The sides

      of the hills were clothed with stunted, twisted shrubs and trees,

      although the more sheltered places in the valley were ablaze with vast

      clumps of rhododendron. Pink. Purple. White. Red. The colors were

      so rich they almost hurt the eye.

      Waterfalls tossed themselves from the heights, falling into a river far

      below.

      "Croagh Patrick," Conor breathed as he caught the first glint of high

      peaks shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.

      The horse and cart broke free of the pass and rolled along a curving

      ribbon of road into a green, green valley, dotted with fa«ns and tidy

      houses. Flocks of sheep undulated over the hills, and cows moved

      slowly through the fields toward home, with dogs running alongside.

      A housewi
    fe gathering vegetables from her garden placed them in her

      big apron, then straightened just as the little cart clattered by. She

      looked up, and seeing Conor, let out a shout.

      "Conor O'Neil. Is it you?"

      "Aye, Mistress Malloney. It is."

      "But we'd heard you were dead."

      "A fabrication, as you can see."

      At her shriek of joy, more heads poked out of windows and doors,

      and before long, men, women and children were lining up along the

      road, calling out greetings, laughing, shouting as the horse and cart

      rolled past.

      Most of them continued running alongside, while others ran ahead to

      tell the lord of the manor the good news.

      By the time the cart rolled up the road leading to the keep, dozens of

      villagers trailed behind.

      Conor pointed, and Emma followed his direction.

      "There's Ballinarin." He spoke the word like a prayer, and Emma felt

      her throat tighten.

      Even before the farmer drew his horse and cart to a halt, people began

      spilling out of the keep. Maids, cooks, stable hands. All stood back as

      the O'Neil family hurried forward.

      "Oh, Conor." Moira O'Neil, tears streaming down her cheeks,

      gathered her son close and sobbed against his chest. "We'd been told

      you were hanged."

      "You know better than to listen to such nonsense, Mother." He

      pressed his lips to her temple, marvelling that she hadn't seemed to

      age a day since he'd left.

      He managed to keep his arm around her when his sister, Briana,

      barrelled into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, blubbering

      like a baby.

      "You've come back," she was sobbing. "And this time, you'll stay.

      Promise me, Conor."

      "Aye, lass. I promise," he muttered.

      "Conor." Gavin O'Neil embraced his son in a fierce hug before

      holding him at arm's length. "From the looks of you, you've engaged

      in a bit of brawling."

      "Aye." Conor grinned. "A bit."

      "Well, boyo." Rory bounded forward to slap his brother on the

      shoulder. "You escaped the hangman's noose, did you?"

      "Aye. Barely." Conor nodded toward Emma, who was standing

      beside the cart, looking a bit dazed. "Thanks to my fellow scoundrel."

      "Emma!"

      Hearing her name, Emma turned to see her father and little sister,

      Sarah, standing in the doorway. With a cry she flew to their arms.

      Moments later she held them a little away, her heart suddenly filled to

      overflowing. "Oh, look at you. You look even better than I

      remembered."

      "Aye. We've been well cared for here at Ballinarin," her father

      assured her. "But we've missed our home. Now that you're back with

      us, Emma, we'll return at once and be a family once more. And this

      time, I promise you, we'll never be separated again."

      From his position with his family, Conor went suddenly very still.

      Though all around him everyone was laughing and talking, his eyes

      took on a sad, haunted look.

      He owed Emma his life. And though he wanted, more than anything

      in this world, to spend the rest of his life with her, how could he now

      intrude upon her homecoming and ask her to be separated once more

      from the people she most loved?

      He turned away, and vowed to hold his silence. She'd given enough.

      Sacrificed more than any woman should ever have to. He would ask

      no more of her.

      Epilogue

      Emma stepped into the rose garden and breathed deeply, filling her

      lungs with the fragrance of hundreds of roses. She was desperate for

      some time to herself. From the moment she and Conor had arrived at

      Ballinarin, they hadn't had a single minute alone. Last night there had

      been a celebration feast in the great hall, with half the village present.

      There had been speeches, and minstrels, and even a chorus of village

      youth serenading them.

      This morning she had been thrust into the chaos of servants and

      trunks and packing. Today, she and her family would be leaving. That

      thought cut like a knife. She and Conor would be separated again.

      This time for good.

      Why had he not spoken for her? She had hoped, when her father had

      retreated to the library with Gavin O'Neil and his sons late last night,

      that they might discuss marriage plans. But when the men had

      emerged hours later, they had merely smiled and nodded and bid each

      other good-night.

      She had waited, like a lovestruck fool, for Conor to come to her bed.

      But she had waited in vain.

      She circled the garden until she found a stone bench tucked away

      behind a fragrant arbor. From somewhere nearby a fountain splashed.

      She settled herself in a patch of sunlight and hoped the pleasant

      surrounding would soothe away some of her agitation. But she knew

      nothing would heal the ache in her heart.

      "What's happened to my sweet-tempered brother?" Rory clapped a

      hand on Conor's shoulder as the two stepped into the garden. "Is it

      because you are forever banned from England as an enemy of the

      Crown?"

      Conor shook his head. "You know I have no desire to see England

      again."

      "Aye, but I would have thought the news that Dunstan and Celestine

      have been proclaimed guilty of treason would bring a smile to your

      face. Surely the fact that Dunstan's properties have been confiscated

      by the Crown, that Daniel Vaughn's estate has been returned to him,

      and that Celestine awaits her punishment in the very cell you once

      occupied, should bring you a measure of satisfaction."

      "It does."

      "But still you do not smile, Conor. If anything, your return to

      Ballinarin ought to have your heart leaping for joy."

      "It is."

      Rory grinned. "Well, if that's how you look when you're joyful, I'd

      hate to see you when you're in a temper."

      "Leave me be, Rory. I'm in no mood for your clever remarks right

      now."

      "I can see that." Rory's smile faded. "What is it, Conor?-What's got

      you looking as though you've just lost your best friend?"

      "I have. Or at least, I'm about to."

      "Ah."

      As

      understanding

      dawned,

      Rory

      nodded.

      "Sweet

      Emma-Vaughn."

      "Aye. Emma." Conor wasn't aware of how his tone softened as he

      spoke her name. Or of the light that came into his eyes.

      But Rory saw. And was moved by it. "If she means that much to you,

      why don't you ask her to stay and share your life?"

      "I want to. More than anything in this world. But it wouldn't be fair to

      her father and little sister. They've just been reunited after such a

      long, painful separation. I can see how much they depend upon her.

      What would they do without her?"

      Rory studied his brother, and saw the pain in his eyes. "The question

      is, what will you do without her?"

      Conor shrugged. "I'll live. I've lived through worse."

      "Aye." Rory put a hand on his brother's shoulder. Squeezed. "I know

      how much you've sacrificed for us. And you've never complained.

      But now you deserve some happiness. Listen to me, Conor. Stop

    &nb
    sp; being so damnably heroic and go to Emma's father. After all we've

      done for him, he'll have to give his blessing."

      "That's just it. He'd feel obligated to agree, whether or not he

      approved." Conor shook his head. "That's why I can't go to him. I

      won't."

      Rory turned away. "Suit yourself, brother. Personally, I don't know

      whether you're being heroic, or playing the part of a fool. I do know

      you'd better prepare yourself for a life of emptiness, if you let the

      woman you love walk away."

      "We'll speak no more of this." Conor abruptly turned away.

      "Where are you going?" Rory called to his retreating back.

      "To my chambers. Where I can brood alone."

      Emma sat perfectly still, mulling all she'd overheard. Conor's

      admission had left her stunned and reeling. Even though he loved her,

      he was going to let her go. And all because he thought her father and

      little sister needed her more than he did.

      She got to her feet and began to pace.

      How could she make him see that her place was here with him? Oh,

      that blind, pigheaded fool. What was she to do? Oh, what to do?

      Suddenly she stopped pacing and began to run from the garden. It

      wasn't much of a plan. But it was all she could think of. There was so

      little time left before her father's carriage would be starting off for

      Dublin.

      Conor had tried everything he could to stay busy, so that he wouldn't

      have time to think. He'd loaded trunks into wagons until his muscles

      ached. He'd ridden into the fields with Innis to choose a special filly

      that would accompany Sarah back to her home. The orphaned lad,

      adopted son of Rory and AnnaClaire, had formed a bond with

      Emma's little sister, and she with him. They had already made a pact

      that they would meet often, so their newly blossomed friendship

      would grow.

      Conor stood on the balcony of his chambers watching the activity

      below. Very soon now, Emma would take her leave of Ballinarin. If it

      killed him, he'd try to let her go gracefully.

      But his heart was so heavy, he could hardly bear the pain.

     
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