Conor

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  anything more than a friend.

  Chapter Seven

  Conor awoke with a start. For a moment he was puzzled by the

  unfamiliar warmth in the bed beside him. The room was in darkness

  except for the faint light from the glowing coals in the fireplace. He

  turned to see Emma curled up like a kitten, with her small hand

  tucked into his.

  How long had he been here, asleep in her bed? Too long, judging by

  the sounds of muted footsteps and swishing petticoats in the hallway

  outside her door. Very soon now a servant would be coming to stoke

  the fire and light the candles as the household awoke to another day.

  If the queen's favorite companion should be found asleep with one of

  the young ladies-in-waiting, the palace would be alive with the

  scandal by the end of the day.

  He studied the spill of silken curls against the pillow, wishing he

  could take a minute more to watch her. How sweet she was. How

  innocent. Aye. Innocent. His smile faded. He would do well to

  remember that in the days and weeks to come.

  There had been more than a few heated moments during the night,

  when she'd pressed her cheek to his, or touched her lips to his throat,

  that he'd been nearly swamped with need. Perhaps, if she had been a

  different kind ofwoman...he shook his head. Emma wasn't the kind a

  man could casually enjoy and then leave. He sensed that Emma

  Vaughn was a woman who would become a fever in a man's blood.

  Once would only whet the appetite for more. Emma was the kind who

  deserved the promise of a lifetime. And that was something he could

  never give. For his life was already pledged to this dirty business he

  did for his country.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed the softest of kisses to her

  delicate flesh. Then he slid from the bed and made his way across the

  room. With his ear to the door he waited until the footsteps receded.

  Then he slipped quietly away and hurried to his own suite.

  A ride, he decided, would be the best way to shake loose the fog that

  seemed to have enveloped his brain this morning. He was in a

  strange, almost melancholy mood.

  He pulled on his tunic and made his way to the stables. And all the

  while he found himself brooding about the scene at dinner the

  previous night. It wasn't just the poor beggars, one who was now

  dead, the other rotting in Fleet. Or the fact that their tale of intrigue

  made no sense at all. Or that he had, in a fit of temper, revealed a part

  of himself better left concealed. It was also Dunstan and the others

  surrounding the queen at court. They had actually laughed and jeered

  as those poor fellows were dealt with in such a harsh manner. The

  more time Conor spent with these people, the more shallow they

  revealed themselves to be.

  "Good'morrow, sir." The stable boy led his mount from the stall and

  held the reins while Conor pulled himself into the saddle.

  "Good morrow, Meade."

  "You've a fine day for a ride, sir."

  "Aye."

  "You'll be riding alone?"

  Conor nodded. And as he guided his mount along a wooded path

  toward the distant meadow, he found himself brooding again. Alone.

  Sometimes, in this opulent pleasure- palace, surrounded by wealthy

  titled ladies and gentlemen, he felt completely alone. He looked like

  them. Dressed and talked like them. Made them laugh. Charmed

  them. And yet there were times when he felt as though a wall had

  been built between himself and them. For he could never think like

  them. Nor did he want to. And so he remained alone. He kept his own

  counsel. He shared his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams with no one.

  He gave his horse its head and felt the breeze fill his lungs and toss his

  hair. He was so weary of the game. But there was no turning back.

  He'd given his word. He did this for family, for friends, for country.

  For Emma.

  The thought startled him. But as he digested it, he found himself

  Smiling despite the darkness of his thoughts. Aye. For Emma. The

  innocent Irish lass who, like him, found herself alone.

  "Wake up, my lady." The servant touched a hand to Emma's shoulder.

  "Umm. Not yet." Emma smiled and reached a hand to the pillow

  beside hers. It was still warm. She traced the imprint of the head that

  had rested there.

  Suddenly she sat bolt upright. She had fallen asleep in Conor's arms.

  And through the night, whenever the pain had awakened her, she had

  been soothed by his presence beside her in the bed. Her eyes widened

  as she glanced around. She sighed with relief when she realized he'd

  managed to slip away before they'd been found together.

  "What is it, Nola? Why do you disturb my sleep?" Emma demanded

  of the servant.

  "My lady, you must let me help you dress at once. Her Majesty sent

  word that she will be visiting your chambers as soon as she has

  broken her fast."

  ' The queen? Here?' Emma glanced around the room in

  consternation. Had Conor left any of his belongings behind? Would

  the queen notice the disarray of bed linens and guess that she'd had a

  visitor through the night?

  "Aye, my lady. Her Majesty ordered a tray sent to your room, and

  said I was to see to your toilette at once."

  "Did the queen say why she would deign to come to my humble

  chambers?"

  "Nay, my lady." The servant filled a basin with warm, rose-scented

  water. "Shall I help you wash?"

  Emma shook her head, struggling to clear the cobwebs of sleep. "I

  can manage it by myself. But first I need an opiate for the pain."

  The servant filled a glass and sprinkled a packet of powder in it.

  Emma drank gratefully, hoping it would take effect quickly. As she

  washed and dressed, she fretted over the reason for the queen's visit.

  A monarch such as Elizabeth never humbled herself to set foot in the

  lowly chambers of others. It had to be because of Conor's nighttime

  visit. Someone must have seen him come in. And now a jealous

  Elizabeth was about to order her to leave. Sweet heaven. She would

  be banished in disgrace. And the blood of her father and sister would

  be on her hands.

  "Hold still, my lady. Why, this gown's so big on you, it's apt to fall

  clear off if you walk too fast."

  "No matter. Just tighten the sash." Emma was so distracted, she didn't

  even bother to look in the mirror.

  What would happen to Sarah and her father now? She would never

  see them again. She would be alone. And penniless.

  "Here, my lady. Sit and I'll brush your hair."

  Like a sleepwalker, Emma sat, her mind awhirl. She was so agitated,

  she could hardly sit still as the servant combed and brushed and

  pinned.

  "That's the best I can do, my lady. You've lovely hair. But with that

  gown..."

  "Thank you, Nola. You may leave me now."

  "Aye, my lady."

  The servant scurried out just as several other serving wenches

  entered. While one carried a tray to the small round table set in front

  of the fire, another servant began to make up the bed and fold the bed


  linens.

  "Did you hear that Her Majesty is coming?" The servant's tone was

  hushed with awe.

  Emma nodded as she picked at a biscuit. "Aye. Do you know why?"

  "Nay, my lady." The servant bustled about, opening draperies, seeing

  that the door to the wardrobe was neatly closed.

  When the room was spotless, the serving wenches hurried away,

  leaving Emma alone.

  Perhaps it wasn't Conor's nocturnal visit that was bringing the queen

  to her suite. She began to pace. Perhaps Elizabeth wanted to see for

  herself how the wound was healing. Still, if that be her reason, she

  could have satisfied her curiosity with a simple question of the

  servants.

  Even the pain in her arm was dull in comparison to the fear that was

  beginning to wrap itself around her heart.

  By the time the chirping of female voices announced the arrival of the

  queen, Emma had worked herself into a state of pure panic.

  ' 'Did you have a good ride, sir?' Meade caught the reins as Conor slid

  from the saddle.

  "Aye, lad. I'm feeling much improved." Indeed he was, he thought, as

  he sauntered toward the palace. The freshair had cleared his mind.

  The sunshine, warm upon his face, had brightened his outlook

  considerably.

  He squared his shoulders, ready for another day of political intrigue.

  If the queen called upon him to play the fool, he would do it with

  ease. If he had to listen to Dunstan's ramblings about the Irish

  peasants, he would manage it without allowing any hint of the anger

  that simmered just beneath the surface.

  "Good morrow, my lord." As he strode into his chambers a little

  servant blushed and bowed before emptying a pitcher of water into a

  basin. "Her Majesty's maid left word that you are to join Her Majesty

  as soon as you are presentable."

  "I suppose that means she expects me to see that I don't smell of

  horses." He laughed at his little joke. "Send word that I will join Her

  Majesty in her chambers as soon as I've washed and changed."

  "Aye, my lord." The servant bowed again before adding, "But Her

  Majesty will not be in her chambers."

  "Where then?"

  "I was given to say that she would meet you when she left the

  chambers of Emma Vaughn, my lord."

  Conor turned away to hide his surprise. The queen had gone to

  Emma's room? This didn't bode well for either of them. He musn't

  have been as cautious as he'd thought. Someone must have spotted

  him leaving the lass's chambers.

  They were in for it now.

  Conor's stride was swift and impatient as he hurried along the

  hallway. Drops of water still glistened in his hair. He'd barely taken

  time to dry himself and dress in a clean tunic before going in search of

  the queen.

  This was all his fault. Emma hadn't invited him into her chambers.

  He'd invited himself. And though she'd asked him to stay, he'd needed

  no coaxing. If truth be told, it had been the most pleasant night he'd

  spent since his arrival in England. And now his head would roll. And

  Emma's too, unless he found the right words. He didn't mind for

  himself. But Emma was the innocent party in all this. He would have

  to make Elizabeth understand that.

  He was still rehearsing his words when he skidded to a halt outside

  the door to Emma's suite. From inside he could hear the sound of...

  laughter.

  Laughter? Was Elizabeth heaping ridicule upon poor Emma? In front

  of all her ladies-in-waiting?

  He felt a surge of righteous indignation and rapped loudly on the

  door.

  A serving wench opened the door a crack and peered out. "Yes, my

  lord?"

  "Tell Her Majesty that Conor O'Neil is here."

  "Aye, my lord."

  The door closed. He heard another round of laughter and was about to

  shove the door open and leap to Emma's defense when the door was

  suddenly opened from within. He nearly fell forward before he

  managed to regain his balance.

  "Her Majesty says you cannot come in just yet."

  He pressed a palm to the door before she could close it. "But I am

  here at Her Majesty's bidding."

  The girl glanced over her shoulder, then back at Conor. "You cannot

  come in just yet, sir."

  Desperation made him bold. The girl's strength was no match for his.

  It was an easy matter to push the door inward. "I'll not be turned away

  until I see for myself what is going on here."

  The queen and her ladies-in-waiting were sitting in a circle around

  Emma, who was standing on a stool, wearing nothing but her chemise

  and petticoats. Several women knelt on the floor, holding up bits of

  fabric, ribbon and lace.

  Several others stood around Emma, holding what appeared to be bolts

  of colorful silks and satins.

  The moment Emma spotted Conor she let out a shriek and the others

  followed suit.

  "Oh, no." Emma crossed her arms over her bosom and, for the space

  of several moments, seemed unable to move. Like the deer they had

  spotted in the meadow, she simply froze.

  The scene seemed frozen in Conor's mind as well. The sight of her, in

  scanty undergarments, made the blood pound in his temples.

  Then, as Emma gathered her wits, she leapt from the stool, knocking

  it over in her haste. Her voice was high- pitched in distress. "Conor

  O'Neil. Whatever are you doing in here?"

  "I came to see..."

  Before he could explain, more shrieks followed. "I'll die of shame. I'll

  simply die." With that she dashed into her sleeping chamber and

  slammed the door shut.

  The queen and her ladies remained where they were, clearly enjoying

  the spectacle.

  Especially enjoyable was the look on Conor's face. What in heaven's

  name had he walked into?

  He glanced from the queen to the others. "What's going on here?"

  Elizabeth's tone was haughty. "I might ask you the same, Conor

  O'Neil. Didn't my servant tell you that you were not- welcome in

  here?"

  "I thought..." He bit back the words that sprang to his lips. A little

  warning bell went off in his mind. Emma had not been weeping when

  he'd entered. She'd been laughing. As loudly as the others. Whatever

  this was, it was not a scene of the queen's vengeance.

  If he were to do as he'd originally planned, pleading Emma's cause

  with the queen, he would simply do more harm than had already been

  done. He managed to assume the air of a man who knew a secret, and

  wasn't about to share it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he fixed the

  queen with a dangerous arch of his brow. "I thought I would just enter

  without invitation."

  "Oh, you wicked, wicked rogue. I should have guessed." Elizabeth

  walked to him and placed a hand upon his arm. "You knew all along

  what we were doing in here. And you just wanted to embarrass our

  little innocent."

  He gave her what he hoped was a knowing smile. ' 'And did I?

  Embarrass our little Emma?"

  "You did indeed. Why, it's the fastest she's ever moved." Elizabeth

  put a hand to her mouth and giggled like a
girl. "Did you hear her say

  she'd die of shame? She had better get accustomed to being looked at

  by men. When we've finished with her, everyone at court will see a

  great deal more of her than they have in the past."

  "Finished with her?" Conor caught himself and added, "You haven't

  finished yet, Majesty?"

  "Nay. But that was to be the last fitting. Now the seamstresses will

  ply their needle and thread until our poor little Emma has a wardrobe

  fit for the queen's lady-in-waiting."

  Conor caught himself before he could sigh in relief. ' 'A wardrobe?"

  "Aye." She gave him a flirtatious smile. "As if you didn't know. Who

  told you?"

  His mind raced. "I believe it was the whispering of some servants."

  "I should have known. I suppose by now it's all over the palace."

  "Aye, madam. There are no secrets here, as you well know."

  "Ah, well." The queen turned to the others. "Come. You will join us

  for a stroll in the garden. We'll leave the seamstresses to their work

  with dear little Emma."As she walked from Emma's room and headed

  toward the door Conor prompted, "About this wardrobe?"

  "Aye. The wardrobe. I thought it was the least I could do to make it up

  to Emma for that horrid incident. After all, it was I who insisted that

  she accompany us on our ride, Conor. I feel responsible for what

  happened to her. And then that race. All for the sake of an article of

  clothing. Nasty business, that. She was forced to endure a great deal

  of pain on my behalf. And you must admit, she does need clothes that

  fit."

  He paused and turned to her. "You're very kind, Majesty."

  "Indeed I am." She threw back her head and laughed. "Of course, I

  had my own reasons. The child is an embarrassment. After all, how

  does it look for one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting to dress like a

  beggar's wife?"

  As they stepped into the garden, Conor glanced up. Emma was

  standing at her window, bathed in a pool of sunlight. Her neck and

  shoulders were bare, her hair spilling around her face like a veil. For

  one brief moment she stood perfectly still, staring down at him. Then

  several women circled around her, holding up their bolts of fabric.