Conor

by Ruth Ryan Langan

Elizabeth knew it as well, and used it to her advantage, pinning him

  with an angry look.

  Just then the door was opened again and the butler's voice broke the

  silence. "Majesty, your lady-in-training, Emma Vaughn."

  "Show her in." The queen's words were clipped.

  Emma stepped in, then, seeing Conor, stopped in her tracks.

  It was clear that she had come running at the queen's summon^.

  Though her face was pale, her cheeks wore two bright spots of color.

  Her hair, as yet uncombed, was a riot of chestnut curls that fell to her

  waist. Her gown was a hideous confection of dull rose, with a sagging

  neckline and drooping waist, at least two sizes too large.

  Conor tried not to stare. But in truth, even the ill-fitting gown couldn't

  hide her youth and beauty. She was such a contrast to the queen, she

  nearly took his breath away. Elizabeth, despite her lavish trimmings,

  looked plain by comparison.

  "Well." Elizabeth looked from Conor to Emma, then back again.

  "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

  "Majesty, I don't—" Emma began.

  But Conor interrupted by stepping forward and holding up a perfect

  red rose. "On my way here I plucked this for you. Majesty."

  Elizabeth was so startled she merely stared at it. Then she wrinkled

  her nose. "You smell of horses."

  "Forgive me. Majesty. I was out riding on this splendid morning. But

  if I offend, I will go now and change my clothes."

  "Nay." She placed a hand on his sleeve to stop him. "Being

  surrounded by so many women, I rather like the smell of a man. You

  will stay."

  "As you wish." He pressed the flower to her hand.

  She couldn't resist accepting it and lifting it to her nose, breathing

  deeply. On a sigh she asked, "How did you know I love roses?"

  "1 didn't. But since you are England's rose, I hoped it would appeal to

  Your Majesty."

  She was smiling now, her earlier temper forgotten. "Sit with me. Both

  of you. We will break our fast together while we talk."

  Conor held a chair for Emma, then settled himself beside her. A

  mistake, he quickly realized. He was far too aware of her. Of the way

  her knees were trembling beneath the table. Of the way her eyes kept

  darting to the queen's face, then away, to stare at a spot on her plate.

  At a nod from the queen, her servants began circling the table,

  offering quail, pork, venison, as well as crusty rolls and goblets of

  wine or mead.

  As she ate, the queen's spirits continued to rise. Her appetite was

  amazing. She ate slowly, deliberately, washing everything down with

  more wine.

  When she was finished she turned to Conor. "So, you like to ride, do

  you, Conor?"

  "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

  thc-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 beg
an 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 toivin 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 place
s 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. Hewanted 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