Kneeling up, Emma watched in amazement as the hooded figure
moved among them, silently slitting each throat. He moved so
quickly, none of his victims had time i to notice his approach, or to
offer any resistance.
When he returned, she was weeping in relief. Big wet tears that
spilled down her cheeks. He lifted her face and wiped the tears with
his thumbs. In his eyes she could read both simmering anger and
heartfelt compassion for what I she was suffering. Without a word he
picked her up and carried her to his waiting horse. She could feel the
ripple of muscle as he climbed easily into the saddle, all the while
holding her against his chest.
"Thank you," she murmured when she could find her voice. "I
know...I know what would have happened if you hadn't come to my
rescue."
Again he touched a finger to her lips to silence her words. Then he
gathered her close, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder. They
rode across the meadow in silence. In fact, it seemed to Emma, the
whole world had gone suddenly silent. No breeze stirred the leaves of
the trees. No night birds sang. Even the frogs in the pond made no
sound as the horse splashed through the water, then climbed the
embankment and headed toward her village in the distance.
In the circle of this stranger's arms she felt warm and safe. No harm
would come to her, she knew, as long as he held her like this.
When they reached the village he slid from the saddle and set her on
her feet.
"I need to know your name, sir, so that my father can properly thank
you."
He shook his head.
"Are you mute? Is that why you don't speak?"
He merely remained silent.
She offered her hand. "Then I thank you, sir. I will never, ever forget
you, or what you did this night."
Though the lower half of his face was covered by the cowl she could
see the smile in his eyes. He pressed her hand between both of his,
then turned and pulled himself into the saddle.
He waited until she ran up the lane and let herself into her house.
Then, as she stood in the doorway and waved, he saluted smartly and
wheeled his mount. Minutes later he blended into the darkness.
From that day on, Emma Vaughn told all who would listen about the
mysterious warrior who had saved her honor and her life. When
asked to identify her champion, she could describe only his eyes.
Deep blue eyes, filled with ageless wisdom and courage and
compassion. Though she was little more than a child, she had already
lost her heart to this stranger. To emulate him, she put aside her fears
and mastered the art of defense with a knife, vowing that no man
would ever again find her helpless.
Throughout all of Ireland the legend grew. And all spoke in awe of
the courage of Heaven's Avenger.
Chapter One
Ireland, 1563
' 'I wish you weren't going to England, Conor." Moira O'Neil
struggled to keep the emotion from her voice as she hugged her son.
But the pain and fear were there, just beneath the surface. She knew
that her middle child was widely regarded as Ireland's most
persuasive orator. Knew, also, that he was a warrior second only to
his older brother, Rory. A man adept with both word and sword could
surely take care of himself in any situation. Still, the worry persisted.
He was going to the land of their enemy. Into the very den of the lion.
It had been his father's plan since Conor was a lad. And gradually,
Conor had accepted the plan as his own. His gift was this wonderful
ability to persuade people, through logic and pretty words, to use
common sense over emotion. To negotiate rather than fight. To make
peace rather than war.
He had another gift, as well. Moira had seen the looks of approval in
the eyes of the young women when he passed, and knew that he was a
dashing ladies' man who had caught the eye of the queen. But
Elizabeth of England was no innocent. She was a worldly monarch,
famous for keeping charming young men around her only so long as
they amused her. Once she lost interest they could find themselves in
grave peril.
Moira sighed. In her eyes Conor would always be that blue-eyed
laughing charmer who had captured her heart when he was born, and
owned it still.
"It seems like only yesterday since you and Rory returned from that
hellish place. And now you're going back, to the very palace where
your brother nearly lost his life."
"I'll be fine, Mother. I'm going at the invitation of the queen. What
harm could possibly come to me?"
What harm indeed? She had heard of the villainies and betrayals
among those who surrounded Elizabeth at court. But she kept such
things to herself as she hugged her son.
"I'm proud of you, Conor." Gavin O'Neil clapped a hand on his son's
shoulder and dragged him close. "You'll do us all proud. Your family.
Your countrymen. And all those who will come after us will bless
your name because of this sacrifice you make for Ireland. If you can't
persuade the English queen to leave us in peace, at least you'll have
your ear to the throne, so that we'll be prepared for what is to come."
"I'll do my best, Father." Conor turned to his older brother, Rory, and
the two men clasped hands. "You'll see to everything on this side of
the sea?"
"Aye." Rory grinned. "And gladly leave the other side to you." He
gave Conor a cool, measured look. "There was another attack last
night upon a group of English soldiers. Heaven's Avenger found them
abusing a wench, and without a word, slit all their throats with a very
small, very deadly knife."
Conor took a step back. "Is that so?"
Rory nodded. "Like all the others, this wench insists her avenger had
superhuman strength, subduing all seven soldiers before even one
could lift a hand in defense. She istelling all who will listen that he
was as tall as a giant, and as handsome as a young god, even though
she couldn't see his face."
"Thus are legends born," Conor scoffed. "If she couldn't see his face,
he could be either fair of face, as the wench insists, or perhaps scarred
so badly he hides his disfigurement beneath a mask." Conor's tone
was dry as he turned to kiss his sister-in-law's cheek. "Continue
taking care of my brother, AnnaClaire, for he is surely losing his
senses."
She laughed. "I'll see to Rory. You'll give my father my love?"
"Aye. If I should see him before he sets sail." James Lord Thompson,
AnnaClaire's father, was Conor's only friend among the queen's
counselors. But he had just sent word that he was being sent by the
queen to Spain. Some suggested he was being banished because he
had dared to cross words with the queen's favorite, Lynley Lord
Dunstan.
Conor turned to the lad who stood between Rory and AnnaClaire.
The orphan, Innis Maguire, had become a son to them, living in their
household, blossoming under their loving care. In the past months he
had grown more than an inch i
n height. The beginnings of muscles
could be seen beneath the sleeves of his tunic.
Conor tousled the blonde hair and dragged the lad close. "Next time I
leave, maybe you can go with me."
"You mean it?"
"Aye, lad. Though I think, when I return from England, I'll be home
to stay."
Conor turned to his little sister, Briana, who was openly weeping.
"No tears now, lass. I'll be home before you have time to miss me."
"I miss you already." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged
him fiercely. "I don't want you to leave."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "But when the Queen of
England issues an invitation, it's really a royal command. I must go."
"She isn't my queen." Briana pushed from his arms and stomped her
foot. She'd inherited her temper, as fiery as her hair, from her father.
"Nor is she your queen, Conor."
"True enough. But I've learned that 'tis ofttimes more prudent to lull
an enemy with sweet songs than to approach with sword raised. So I'll
go to England, lass, and watch and listen." He shot her that charming
smile that had broken the heart of many a colleen. "And even croon a
minstrel's song of love to the lady on the throne, if that's what it takes
to keep my people safe from English swords."
He pulled himself into the saddle and saluted his family smartly.
Then, with a last wave at the servants who had assembled to wish him
godspeed, he turned his mount toward Dublin.
Before he reached the village he turned for a lingering look at
Ballinarin. The sun had burned away the last of the morning
raindrops. The sky was awash with feathery clouds that seemed to
brush the highest peaks of Croagh Patrick. A waterfall cascaded
down the side of the mountain, sending up a misty spray. A flock of
sheep undulated across a hillside. This land was so green, so
beautiful, it seemed like an artist's rendering.
He thought of his little sister Briana's words to him and felt a sigh
well up from deep inside. He wasn't yet gone, and already he missed
the land of his birth. At times he felt like a nomad. Since boyhood
he'd spent as much time away as he had at his beloved home. He'd
lived with a tutor in a villa in Rome, where he'd mastered the classics.
Learned to speak fluent Spanish in a monastery. Could converse in
French after two years in Paris. What he longed for, more than
anything else, was to spend the rest of his life at Ballinarin. Hearing
words spoken in a soft, soothing brogue. Riding his horse across the
green, verdant hills. But he had a duty. To his father. To his country.
This was what he had trained for. What his mother had prayed for.
What his father and brother had fought for.
He would do his best to turn away from his legacy as a warrior and
become, instead, an advocate for peace. But if peace could not
prevail, he would never submit to the oppressor. He touched a hand to
the knife at his waist. A knife that had spilled too much English
blood.
There was no turning his back on his destiny.
Clermont House, Outside London
"I grow weary of waiting for the throne." Henry, Earl of Huntington,
paced back and forth. "Elizabeth grows more popular with her
subjects every day."
His sister put a hand on his arm. "Queens have a way of dying."
He turned on her with a snarl. "Elizabeth is young and healthy. She
could live for years."
"She need not die of...natural causes."
He studied her with new interest. "What are you planning?"
"What I have always planned. What we have always planned,
brother. You will be king." She turned to the other man in the room,
who had remained silent throughout their exchange. "You, Dunstan,
will get richer. And I..." Her smile bloomed. "As the new Lady
Vaughn, I hold power over a certain someone who will do exactly as I
say."
Her brother Henry's frown deepened. "How can you be certain your
stepdaughter will spy for us, Celestine?'
She walked to the window and pointed. "You see? Even now she
rides up the lane. The girl is as predictable as the English rain. She
thinks herself smart and strong. But I intend to prove her wrong." She
touched a hand to his arm.
"Leave Emma Vaughn to me. And put your fears to rest. Prepare,
instead, for your reign as King of England."
Huntington's voice was rough with impatience. "I am not prepared to
wait forever."
"Nor am I," Dunstan said. "For I have a few plans of my own."
"Then see to them. But if your plans fail, mine will not." She left her
brother and Lord Dunstan and went to her chambers to prepare
herself for her performance. It was an art that she had perfected.
When she was ready she descended the stairs and made her grand
entrance. "Foolish, defiant child. I ordered you to stay away. It is
enough that I permit you use of your father's London townhouse."
Celestine swept into the parlor with the polished air of a courtesan.
Her gown had been artfully designed to show off her lush figure to its
best advantage. Her eyes blazed as she confronted the young woman
who was pacing before the fireplace. "Did you think the servants
wouldn't tell me you were lurking about?"
"I am not lurking." Emma stopped her pacing and lifted her head to
stare at the older woman. "I've come to see my father and little sister."
"I've told you before, Emma. You are forbidden to see them."
"You have no right, Celestine."
"I have every right. I'm your stepmother now. Yours and little
Sarah's. And your father's wife. It is a wife's duty to look out for her
husband."
"Husband." Emma's hands knotted into fists at her sides. "You care
not a whit about being a wife to my father. All you care about is
securing his wealth."
The woman gave a chilling smile. "It is my wealth now. I'll use it as I
see fit. And you, my girl, will not see a farthing."
"I care not for my father's wealth."
"If that is true then leave."
"Oh, I shall. But first I will see my father and little sister."
"I forbid it."
"You cruel, wicked creature. If my father knew what you were doing,
he would renounce this farce of a marriage and have you publicly
flogged."
"Beware that idle tongue, my girl. For I am the mistress of Clermont
House now. And I am telling you that your father and sister do not
wish to see you."
"That's a lie. My father loves me. He would never turn away from me.
Sarah adores me. I'm like a second mother to her." With an anguished
cry Emma crossed the room and caught the older woman's arm.
"What have you said to them? What have you done to turn them
against me?"
She looked up into those narrowed eyes and saw a flicker of
amusement. "They don't know, do they? You've never told them that
you banished me from this home. Oh, how could they not know?
Unless..." As a thought struck, she cried, "What have you done? Are
they unwell? Dear heaven, are my father and little sister ill?"
Celestine star
ed at the offending fingers wrinkling her sleeve. "You
will unhand me at once, or I'll see that you are physically removed
from this house and never permitted to return."
When Emma released her, Celestine stiffened her spine and with,.a
haughty gesture crossed to a side table. Pouring herself a goblet of
wine she sipped, regarding her stepdaughter in silence.
She was pleased to see that all the anger had drained from the girl. In
its place was fear. A terrible, palpable fear that her beloved father and
sister had fallen under some horrible spell.
That must be the reason for this silence, Emma thought.
Her strong, handsome father had been duped into marriage and was
now being betrayed by this woman. And her sweet little sister, who
had already suffered the loss of their mother, was now being denied
the only comfort she had ever known.
Just how far would this new bride go to insure that all the Vaughn
wealth, all the power, all the titles, would be in her hands? Would she
poison not only their minds but their bodies as well? At the very
thought, Emma felt the terror begin to grow. A woman as ruthless as
Celestine would be capable of anything.
"Just how much do you desire to see your father and sister, I
wonder?"
"I wish it desperately." Emma felt a tiny flicker of hope. "Just to
assure myself that they are not ill. And if, after seeing me, they should
order me to leave, I will do so and never darken their door again. But
please, I beg of you, I must hear it from their own lips. Let me speak
with Sarah and my father."
"Sarah is no longer here."
"Not here? Where has she gone?"
"I had her sent to the country. To stay with friends."
"But why would you send her away? She's only six years old. Far too
young to leave her father."
"Aye, young. Young enough to forget."
"Forget?"
"I wanted Sarah far away from you, Emma. You've had too much
influence in her young life. Like you, she refused to accept my
authority. But she will learn." A hint of a smile touched the corner of
Celestine's lips. "I intend to keep Sarah away from you. But I might
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