condition of your father and sister. Once we know what we're dealing
with, we'll be better able to make our plans."
"Are you telling me we can't take them with us tonight? Even if
they're able to travel?"
He shook his head vigorously. "Tonight you will see them, speak
with them if they're able to hear you, and assure them that help in on
its way. And then, though it breaks your heart, you will have to leave
them as you found them. Are you. prepared to do that?"
He saw the quick flash of pain before she composed herself. "Aye. I'll
do what I must. But—"
He cut her off. "Do you trust me, Emma?"
She stared into his eyes, and though she didn't know why, she knew
that she did indeed trust him. "I do."
"That's my lass." He squeezed her hand, then turned and led the way
through a half-opened window.
The room was a sitting chamber, with several chaises arranged
around a fireplace. From the coolness of the ashes, it appeared the fire
hadn't been tended in hours.
"These used to be my little sister's rooms." Emma looked around in
consternation. "But she must have been moved. It's far too cold for a
child."
"Check the sleeping chamber." Conor moved to the door. "I'll keep
watch in the hallway."
He waited until Emma made her way to the other room, then, just as
he was about to slip out the door, he heard her little cry. Quickly
closing the door he hurried to her side.
She'was standing beside the bed, holding a candle aloft while she
stared down at the still figure of a child. A child with matted hair and
glazed, unseeing eyes.
"Ohj Conor." Emma couldn't stop the tears that spilled from her eyes
and flowed down her cheeks. "What has Celestine done to my sweet,
beautiful little sister?"
Conor had to struggle to bank the wave of fury that engulfed him. But
this wasn't the time to give in to such feelings. For Emma's sake, for
all their sakes, he would put aside emotion and do what was
necessary.
He turned away and began to rifle through the things on the table
beside the bed. Finding a small vial, he sniffed, tasted, then replaced
it as he'd found it.
He caught Emma's hand. "Remember what you promised. No matter
what you see, you won't cry out again."
"But she's so small and helpless. Look at her, Conor. They aren't even
tending to her basic needs. She looks as if she hasn't been fed or
washed. And she's cold." She closed a hand over Sarah's. "So cold."
Conor rummaged through a wardrobe and found a small sheepskin.
"Here. Wrap this around her, then place her bed linens over it.
Judging by the signs of neglect, I'd wager that no one will even
notice."
Emma did as she was told, grateful for anything that would ease her
little sister's suffering.
"Now." Conor caught her by the wrist and forced her to turn away.
"We must find your father."
Emma followed him from the room, then pointed toward the suite at
the end of the hall. "Those are my father's chambers."
"They were." Conor's eyes narrowed as he considered. "I doubt
Celestine would permit him the largest suite. We'll try these others
first."
On the second try they found Daniel Vaughn in nearly the same
condition as his little daughter. The room was cold, the fire burned to
ash. In the bed, the aged, withered hulk that had once been Emma's
father was now a bearded old man with sunken cheeks and vacant
eyes.
This time, though Emma kept from crying out, she sank to her knees
beside the bed and began to weep in silence.
Conor searched the contents of the table beside the old man's bed
until he found a vial similar to the one in Sarah's room. A quick sniff
and taste satisfied him that it containedthe same potion. He replaced
the stopper, then turned his attention to Emma. Her body shook with
sobs as she clung to her father's cold hand.
"Come, Emma. We must leave before a servant comes upon us."
Instead of a reply she brought her father's hand to her lips and began
Conor heard the sound of a door open and close somewhere nearby,
and the sound of footsteps echoing along the hall.
"Emma. There is no more time. We have to leave now."
"I cannot, Conor. Don't you see? I can't leave them alone. Celestine
wants them dead. Without me they're helpless."
"Aye. But if she should find you here, you'll become like them.
There's no time for argument now, Emma. We must go."
As she started to shake her head he lifted her up like a sack and tossed
her over his shoulder. At the door he paused, then hearing the
footsteps recede, he opened the door and peered around. Seeing no
one around, he made his way to Sarah's sitting chamber and crossed
to the open window. Once on the balcony, he deposited Emma on her
feet and pulled the window closed.
"You can't do this." Emma's tears were no longer tears of sorrow, but
of rage. "You can't make me leave them."
"I can and I will."
As she. opened her mouth to protest he again picked her up and, as
easily as if he were leading a partner through the dance, descended
the arbor and ran to where their horses were tied.
Without a word he pulled himself into the saddle and, still holding her
prisoner in his arms, caught the reins of her horse and nudged his own
into a run.
Chapter Fourteen
"Let me go. You don't understand." In vain, Emma pounded her fists
against Conor's chest, as they sped across the darkened countryside.
"I can't leave them, Conor. I can't. I'm their only hope of surviving."
"Aye, my lady." His tone was low with suppressed fury over what he
had seen at Clermont House. "Which is why I can't allow you to
stay."
"Oh, I should never have trusted you." Tears of pain and rage blinded
her.
When they were a safe distance from her father's home, Conor reined
in his mount and slid from the saddle.
As he reached up to help her dismount, she caught at a riding whip
and lifted it to strike him. "I'll not go back to the palace with you. I'm
going back to find a way to rescue my father and sister."
"Nay, little vixen. You'll do as I say." He caught her wrist and yanked
her none too gently from the saddle, then tossed the whip aside.
Her tears started again. Tears of impotent rage. "How can you be so
cruel?"
He brought his arms around her, pinning her to the length of him to
keep her from striking out again. Against her hair he muttered, "I tried
to warn you, but I see you weren't really listening. Did you think to
find your father and sister sleeping peacefully, with nothing but a
guard outside their rooms? Did you think that Celestine would leave
anything to chance?"
"She's a monster." Emma's words were muted against his chest.
"Aye. A monster who will stop at nothing to have what she wants.
Now, Emma, stop and think a moment. Do you really believe your
presence at Clermont House could have an
y effect on a woman like
that?"
"At least she'd know that I was aware of her villainy."
"She cares not what you or others think. She cares only for her own
pleasures."
Emma brushed at her tears with the back of her hand, then took
several long shuddering breaths. "Then what am I to do?"
His tone gentled. "You can begin by trusting me."
She sniffed, nodded. "I do."
"You say that. But your actions say otherwise."
She took a step back, feeling more in control now. "All right, Conor. I
give you my word. I will truly trust you. Do you have a plan?"
He led her toward her horse. "Aye. Come. On our return to the palace,
I'll tell you what I think we must do."
Despite the lateness of the hour, candles gleamed in many of the
palace windows. When they were still some distance away, Conor
and Emma dismounted and led their horses to the stable. A sleepy
figure stepped from a stall and, pausing to rub his eyes, took the reins.
"Thank you, Meade." Conor handed him a gold coin. "I'll return your
clothes on the morrow."
The stableboy glanced at the shadowy figure beside Conor. "If the lad
wishes to keep them, my lord, I don't mind."
Conor thanked him, handed him a second gold coin and led Emma
away before she could speak.
"It's better if he doesn't know who accompanied me on my midnight
ride," he whispered. "And since he thinks you're a lad, all the better."
In the darkness she stumbled, and he caught her before she could fall.
As he gathered her against him he noted the weariness etched on her
face. When they reached the palace courtyard, Conor took hold of the
rope which still dangled from the upper balcony.
"Come, my lady. You need your bed."
"Aye." Now that the tears had run their course, she didn't know how
she would find the strength to climb. All the energy seemed to have
drained from her.
"Here." He lifted her arms around his neck and muttered, "Hold fast
to me."
Before she knew what he was planning, he began to climb hand over
hand. Again she was aware of his incredible strength. It didn't seem
possible that he could be pulling the weight of both of them as easily
as if he were climbing the stairs. When they reached the balcony
outside her room he paused for a moment, leaving them both
dangling in space. She lifted her head and their lips brushed.
"Beware, my lady." His eyes, the color of the midnight sky, held hers.
"Whenever our lips meet, I lose all my senses." He smiled, and her
heart tumbled wildly in her chest.
Was it this feeling of weightlessness that had her mind spinning, her
breath hitching? Or was it the nearness of this dangerous, mysterious
man?
The breeze caught them, causing them to sway back and forth. It
occurred to Emma that this was the most amazing sensation. Their
bodies were pressed tightly together. Herarms were locked around his
neck. And all that kept them from being dashed on the paved
courtyard below was Conor's strength holding them fast.
Still grasping the rope, he claimed her lips. She felt a rush of heat that
left her dazed. And then, with a sigh, she forgot everything and gave
herself up to the pleasure.
"I think..." He kissed her, long and slow and deep, lingering over her
lips while his blood heated and his heartbeat began to race. "...I'd
better get you inside quickly, before I completely lose my senses."
With strong measured movements he clambered over the railing.
Instead of setting her on her feet he carried her into her room and
deposited her on the edge of her bed. Then, before she could move, he
knelt and began to remove her riding boots.
"What are you doing, Conor?"
"I'm putting you to bed, Emma."
"I can do this myself." She touched a hand to his, to stop his
movements. "I'm not a child."
"I'm aware of that." He looked up and she felt the jolt clear to her toes.
"Too well aware of it."
He slid off one boot, then the other. The touch of his hands, moving
along her feet, caused the strangest sensations. As oddly intimate as
the kiss they had just shared.
She stared down at his head, the hair gleaming blue- black in the
firelight. Without thinking she caught his face between her hands and
lifted it to hers.
"Who are you, Conor O'Neil?"
"You know me, Emma."
She shook her head. "I realize I don't know you at all." Her eyes
searched his, seeking answers. "Oh, I know Her Majesty's Irish rogue.
The fine teller of tales, who can out-drink, outlaugh and outlie most
of the peacocks who surround the queen at court. Only now I realize
you aren't that man."
"I am that man, Emma."
She shook her head. "You only pretend to be. Who are you really?"
Instead of an answer, he kissed her hard and quick. And then he got to
his feet and crossed to the balcony.
"Unlock your door now, Emma, before you retire and then toss me
the rope. If I can keep my wits about me, the only one who will enter
is your servant, to tend to your needs on the morrow."
He caught hold of the rope and stepped over the railing. And with a
soft sound that could have been a chuckle or an oath, he dropped to
the ground and neatly caught the rope when she'd managed to untie it.
As silence settled around her, Emma unlocked her door and went to
her bed. She sat very still, thinking about all that had transpired this
night. She had discovered the truth about Celestine's cruel treatment
of her father and sister. And the truth was far more painful than what
she had imagined. If Conor hadn't stopped her, she would have ruined
everything by confronting her stepmother too soon, before she had a
plan of action.
She had discovered something else, as well. The man she knew as
Conor O'Neil, was not at all what he seemed.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. As she drifted into sleep, her
lips curved into a smile. She was in love, not with the queen's rogue,
but with a man of mystery. A man who, whatever else he might be,
had proven himself a bold, clever, fearless warrior.
"Oh, my lady. Have you ever seen such excitement?" Nola came
dashing into Emma's chambers, her arms laden with clean linens.
"The palace is alive with activity. Already the first carts and wagons
are being loaded for the journey."
Emma looked up from the basin where she was washing.
"I have heard the rumble of wheels all morning in the courtyard. But I
thought it far too soon to begin the progress."
"Her Majesty has decreed that we must be ready to leave Greenwich
by the end of the week."
"But that isn't possible." Emma's voice caught in her throat. "Why
must we take our leave so soon?"
"I know not. But Her Majesty's maid was overheard telling the earl's
maid that the queen expected to be supping in his manor house by
week's end."
Emma felt the familiar twinge of fear. So little time. Still, Conor had
said he would find a way. She would trust him, as she h
ad promised.
She squared her shoulders and began to dress for the day.
As she entered the great hall to break her fast with the queen, she
caught sight of Conor, relaxed and content, looking for all the world
like a man who had spent a lazy night in bed, rather than a night of
hard riding and dangerous escapades.
"Good morrow, my lady."
He bowed over her hand, and she felt the jolt clear up her arm.
"Good morrow, my lord." She curtsied. "Majesty."
As she took her seat at table the queen said, ' 'I hope you slept well,
Emma."
"Aye, Majesty. And you?"
"Nqy. I am far too excited to sleep. Blystone tells me his gardens are
in full bloom. I am eager to see them."
"And you shall, Majesty." The earl drained his cup. "My messenger
tells me that my household is most eagerly awaiting the honor of your
presence."
Elizabeth beamed. The thought of the progress had infused her life
with new meaning. "I must have a new travel wardrobe. New
ballgowns. A warm cloak for cool mornings. And a lighter cloak for
warmer evenings." Her mind raced with plans.
Dunstan interrupted. "I am told there is excellent hunting at your
estate, Blystone."
"Aye. Our woods are well stocked with deer, with pheasant and
partridge."
"The queen loves to hunt." Dunstan turned to her with a smile, and
she was quick to embrace the idea.
"Aye. Then I must have new hunting outfits as well. I trust you will
arrange a hunting party."
"As you wish. Majesty."
"And a grand ball."
Blystone nodded, becoming as caught up in the excitement as
Elizabeth. "The gentry will be eager to greet their monarch."
She gave him a sharp look. "You'll see that they mind the length of
their speeches."
He smiled. "I'll caution them to keep their words of greeting brief."
"Splendid." She sipped hot mulled wine, then glanced around the
table. "This time next week we will be dining in Warwick."
Emma wanted to groan with dismay. But when she glanced across the
table at Conor, he merely winked. Despite her misgivings, she felt a