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“Aye, Majesty. There is something about giving a steed its head and racing across a meadow. It allows the mind, the heart, the very soul to soar wild and free.”
She was watching him, clearly enthralled. “Why is it that everything sounds so much better when you describe it?”
He shot her a wicked smile. “Perhaps because I believe in what I say. Would you care to ride with me one morning, Majesty?”
She considered a moment, then nodded. “I believe I would.” She turned to the timid young woman. “Do you ride, Emma?”
“Aye, Majesty.” Emma was relieved to speak on a topic about which she was knowledgeable. “On my father’s estate outside Dublin, we have some of the finest horses in all of Ireland.”
“A woman after my own heart. Then you shall join us for an early morning ride. And we will see if our English horses measure up to yours.”
Emma gave a shy smile. “I’d like that, Majesty, for I’ve missed the horses.”
In the doorway the queen’s butler cleared his throat. She looked toward him with annoyance.
“Majesty, your Keeper of the Treasury and your financial advisors have assembled for the meeting you requested with your Lord Chamberlain and your Lord Steward.”
She gave a look of distaste. “Why can I never have enough time for my own pleasures?” She took a deep breath. “I must be about the business of England. A pity. There was much I wished to discuss. Such as why Dunstan came to me last night, disturbing my rest. After I’d finished my litany of insults, he told me a wild tale that you, Conor, were the one who had sent him to my chambers.”
Instead of offering an explanation, Conor merely gave her his most charming smile.
Dazzled by him she turned to Emma. “And I’d hoped you would explain what Lord Dunstan told me about you.”
“M...Majesty?” Emma paused with the goblet halfway to her lips.
“That you caught your heel and fell against the wall, tearing your gown. Then you fell into a fit of weeping for which you couldn’t be comforted.”
“Homesick, no doubt,” Conor muttered aloud.
Some of the wine sloshed from Emma’s glass, and she began to wipe at it.
Before she could speak the queen gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ah. No matter. I must attend to more important matters.” She lifted the rose and inhaled its perfume, then got wearily to her feet.
At once both Emma and Conor stood.
“Stay,” Elizabeth commanded sternly. “Finish your meal. And tomorrow, while the others are still abed, we shall ride. Do I have your word on it, Conor?”
“Aye, Majesty. I shall see to the arrangements myself.”
She nodded. “A dawn ride then. I am eager to see if my mind and heart and soul will actually soar as you described.”
With a swish of skirts she was gone.
While the servants began to clear the table, Conor picked up his goblet and drank. Emma did the same. Her hand, he noted, was trembling.
She turned to him. “What do you think...?”
He gave a firm shake of his head and the question she was about to ask died on her lips.
He waited until the servants were about to leave. Setting down his goblet he offered his arm to the young woman. “Perhaps you would care to take a walk in the gardens, my lady?”
“Aye.”
Conor glanced at the back of a retreating servant, then added, “I believe the sunshine will be quite refreshing.”
They moved stiffly out the door and down the long hallway to the stairs. Once outside Emma turned to him. “You don’t trust the queen’s servants?”
“I trust only myself. And you should do the same.”
“Aye.” Good advice, she knew. Especially in the game she’d been forced into playing. She took a breath. “How am I to explain my tears to the queen?”
“With all that goes on in the palace, the question may never again come up. If it should, I think your safest explanation is that you are feeling adrift, so far from home.”
“Aye. ’Twould not be a lie.” For a moment her thoughts strayed, but to her credit she managed to compose herself. She hugged her arms about herself and lifted her face to the sun, breathing deeply. “Each time I step out of the palace, I feel as if I’ve been freed from a prison.”
“If you feel so strongly, why are you here?”
She began to move beside him along the stone-paved walkway. “To please my stepmother.”
“What about your father? Has he nothing to say about it?”
“He...also wishes to please her. Like her cousin, the queen, Celestine is a strong-willed woman.”
Conor paused beside a curved bench and waited until Emma sat before seating himself beside her. “Will you ever return to Ireland?”
She looked away to hide the trembling of her lips. “It is my fondest wish. But I couldn’t leave without my father and sister. And I fear they will never leave England.”
“Because your father has made a new life for himself here in England with his bride?”
“Aye.”
He stretched out his long legs, enjoying the sunshine. And the company. It occurred to him that there were few in England with whom he could converse. “Perhaps, if your stepmother could be persuaded to visit our island, she would learn to love it as we do, and your family could settle down in Ireland.”
Emma shook her head. “Celestine is like so many in this land who have already hardened their hearts against Ireland. They see no reason to ever visit its shores or get to know its people.”
He nodded. “Aye. And the feelings against our land continue to grow. Dunstan is urging the queen to send more soldiers, to bring the Irish rebels to their knees.”
She held her breath, wondering if what he had just revealed might be important to her stepmother. Gathering her courage she asked, “And what do you urge the queen to do?”
He shrugged. “What I always urge. Patience. Compassion. But Elizabeth is not a patient woman. And her closest advisors agree with Dunstan. I stand alone in this battle of wills.”
“Oh, you’re hardly alone, Conor O’Neil.” Emma turned to him, and he was aware that all her shyness had somehow disappeared. In its place was a strange mix of emotions. Anger seemed the strongest, along with a strength he hadn’t noticed before.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
She had no idea why she was experiencing this sudden rush of temper. This man was nothing more to her than a means to an end. But just thinking about his relationship with Elizabeth of England had her blood boiling. It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. It was righteousness. He was a son of Ireland, openly courting the Queen of England.
She stood, shaking down her skirts. “From what I’ve heard, you have the queen eating out of your hand like a favorite pet. And, if what I witnessed this morrow in the queen’s chambers was typical, I’d say you’ve found many ways to win her with your charm.”
Though he was annoyed, he hid his feelings behind a lazy smile as he got to his feet, towering over her. “Haven’t you heard? Women can’t resist me.”
She turned on her heel and started back along the path. “You’re very sure of yourself, Conor O’Neil.”
He merely chuckled as he kept pace beside her. “Does that annoy you?”
“I care not one way or the other about you. But I am grateful that you managed to deflect the queen’s questions.”
“Aye. I thought the rose was an especially nice touch.”
“It was all an act?” Stunned, she suddenly stopped and turned to him.
When he said nothing in his own behalf she studied him more closely. “What arrogance, that you would use even the queen in this fashion. What favors do you hope to obtain for yourself, I wonder?”
Without thinking he caught her roughly by the shoulders. “Beware my temper, Emma. Though I keep it on a tether, it breaks free from time to time. And when it does, it is a most unpleasant sight.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to back down, though the mere touch of him caused her heart to stutter. “And you avoid all unpleasantness, don’t you, Conor O’Neil?”
“Aye.” He hadn’t meant to touch her, but now that he had, he couldn’t think of any good reason to release her. Up close she smelled as fresh as the flowers in the garden. Her hair gave off a fragrance of rose water. “You might consider doing the same, Emma Vaughn, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Is that a threat?” Her eyes narrowed. Gone was all pretense of the shy, timid young woman she showed to the rest of the world. And though her blood was pounding in her temples, she refused to back away.
“Call it whatever you wish. If you’re wise you’ll take care not to make enemies among the queen’s friends at court. There may come a time when you’re in need of a friend.” He found himself staring at her pouting lips. Lips that were made for kissing. That thought had the blood rushing from his brain.
“Are you suggesting that I should allow an animal like Lord Dunstan to do with me as he pleases?”
“Of course not.” At the moment, there were any number of things he would be pleased to do with her himself. None of them polite. All of them far too tempting. “But you would be well-advised to find a way to hold him at arm’s length while not incurring his wrath. Dunstan is much favored by Elizabeth. Should you arouse his ire, you arouse the queen’s as well. And those who are not favored by this monarch sometimes find themselves and their families in grave danger.”
“Then you need not worry, Conor, since you are obviously much in Elizabeth’s favor. Everyone at court whispers about her strange alliance with her...” Emma’s tone lowered in scorn “...her charming rogue.”
She saw the sudden change in his eyes. She knew she had said too much, had gone too far. Alarmed, she tried to push free of his hands. But it was too late. The last thread of his frayed temper snapped.
“Do you know how weary I am of that name?” He dragged her close and saw her eyes widen.
Ignoring her little cry of distress, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Heat flowed between them. Heat that softened her lips, and tightened his hands on her arms.
She tried to pull back, but her strength was no match for his. And then, as his mouth moved over hers, she was caught up in something so new, so powerful, she lost the will to fight.
She had been kissed before, but never like this. At first, the kiss was harsh, demanding. Filled with anger and impatience. But even as she absorbed the first jolt, the kiss suddenly softened, gentled, causing her even greater distress.
Conor lifted his head for a moment, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. And then he lowered his head and kissed her again, almost hesitantly. The lips moving over hers seemed to be tasting, sipping, absorbing. The hands at her back were holding her as carefully as if she were made of glass. And though she could have easily pulled away, she felt frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the feel of his clever mouth on hers.
He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Like all in his family, he’d always known that his temper was a source of trouble, and so he always kept it under tight control. But once loose, it took over his will, taking him places better left untraveled.
At the first touch of her, everything had speeded up. His pulse. His mouth on hers, tasting, devouring. His hands on her body, wanting to touch her everywhere, needing to feel her in every part of himself.
One small section of his mind was shouting a warning. It was midmorning in the queen’s own garden. Any number of people might see them. All his plans could be spoiled by this one foolish act. But another part of his mind ignored the warning. He didn’t want to stop holding her, kissing her. He would pay any price, forfeit any success, to go on like this forever.
He took the kiss deeper and was rewarded by her sigh. Her hands, which had been pushing against his chest, were now clutching him to her. Her body was pressed to his, imprinting itself on his flesh. Her full pouty lips were as eager as his to taste, to feast, to devour.
He was, in the space of a heartbeat, fully aroused. He wanted more. Wanted all. A most dangerous situation, he knew. He needed to step back. To think. To breathe.
Sweet heaven, to breathe.
One last touch, he promised himself as his hands moved along her back, stroking, soothing, exciting. One last kiss, he vowed, as his mouth moved over hers.
At last, drawing on all his control, he managed to lift his head.
Filling his lungs with air he took a step back, breaking contact. “Let that be a lesson to you, Emma. Even the most charming of rogues has a limit to his patience.”
“Aye. A rogue. An arrogant, pigheaded....” Her words came out in a rush, threatening to choke her. She would never let him know how difficult it was to speak. “But there is nothing charming about you, Conor O’Neil. And I’ll remind you that I am not one of those brainless little butterflies who flit around the men at court, hoping to play at love. If I were, it would be with a heroic figure, like...like Heaven’s Avenger, who saves helpless maidens, and certainly not with the likes of you.”
She drew back her hand to slap his face. Reading her intention, he caught it and dragged her close.
His breath was hot against her cheek as he whispered, “Aye. That’s why you refused to cooperate in that kiss, isn’t it, Emma?”
She was stung by his jibe. It hit too close to the mark. She knew she’d wanted what he’d offered, and had made no move to stop him. But now that she had her wits about her once more, she was feeling shamed and embarrassed. It was one thing to pretend to be interested in him, in order to learn his secrets. It was quite another to allow herself to get caught up in any real emotion for this man.
In order to cover her rush of feelings she said, “You’re no better than Dunstan. Like him, you think all women will fall at your feet. Well, I’m not the queen, blushing and giggling at your every word, Conor O’Neil. I intend to save myself for a real man, not some pompous peacock.”
She turned and caught at her skirts, racing as fast as she could toward the palace. Leaving him standing alone in the sun-drenched garden. With the taste of her still on his lips. And the scent of her filling his lungs.
Chapter Five
“Good morrow, sir.” The stable lad had seen Conor coming and was already leading his mount from the stall.
“Good morrow, Meade. I hope you haven’t forgotten that the queen will be joining me.”
“Nay, sir. I’ve forgotten nothing.” The boy’s smile was dazzling. It was a rare opportunity to serve his monarch. “I have Her Majesty’s mount saddled and ready. And a third horse suitable for the young lady you mentioned.” He looked beyond Conor. “I believe this must be your young lady now.”
Conor turned. Emma was striding toward him, looking slightly uncomfortable in a heavy riding gown the color of green leaves. As with all her clothing, it was obviously borrowed from one of the other ladies-in-waiting, since it was as ill-fitting as the others. Her long hair was tied back with matching ribbons. Perched on her head was a most fetching bonnet, adorned with feathers and lace.
When she drew close he called, “Good morrow, Emma.”
“Good morrow, Conor.” She avoided his eyes, feeling the old shyness take hold. She had managed to avoid him since that scene in the garden yesterday. But this morning she had awakened with a sense of excitement. It wasn’t the knowledge that she would be spending time in this man’s company that had her pulse racing. After all, she could hardly tolerate Conor O’Neil. She was convinced that her eagerness was really caused by the opportunity to ride in the open air.
The stable boy led a spirited mare from its stall, and Conor studied the horse with suspicion. “Are you certain you want such a headstrong animal, Emma?”
“I’ve told you I’m an accomplished rider.”
“Very well.” He offered his hands, and she placed one dainty foot in them. She was boosted into the sidesaddle, where she quickly arranged her skirts. The heat she’d felt at his touch was merely generated by the excitement of the ride, she assured herself.
As for Conor, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of shapely ankles and legs, before her skirts tumbled down to hide the view. When he heard the sounds signalling the arrival of the queen, he turned.
Elizabeth bustled along the walkway, accompanied by a maid, a footman, a butler and several ladies-in-waiting, who were all talking at once.
“Good morrow, Majesty.” Conor bowed. “Will we saddle more horses for the others?”
