Conor

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  The gold disappeared instantly inside his tunic. "You realize.1 could

  lose my position with the earl if he should learn that I permitted you

  here, my lady?"

  "Aye." She gave him her most radiant smile. "But the queen will be

  so pleased to see her cousin, and to hear the joyous news of my

  betrothal, she may even give you more gold herself."

  "Then I am delighted to serve you, my lady." He paused, then nodded

  toward the line of trees. "I hear the beaters. They draw near."

  "You have done well. You may go," she said.

  Within moments the huntsman had disappeared into the forest.

  A smile played on Celestine's lips. She wondered where in England

  the huntsman could manage to hide, once it was discovered that the

  queen had been assassinated in his forest. And all because of his

  greedy desire for gold.

  From his place of concealment Conor stared around, wondering

  which direction would lead him to Dunstan. From the conversation

  between Celestine and the huntsman, he realized that she was here for

  only one reason— to give a signal when the queen approached.

  Conor couldn't wait a minute longer. If the queen should appear, it

  would be over in a matter of seconds. Elizabeth would be dead. And

  Emma. His beloved Emma's fate was tied to the queen's.

  As he studied the surrounding forest, he caught a sparkle of sunlight

  through the foliage. It could be the reflection off a smooth surface,

  such as a rock or pond. Or a knife, he thought with sudden clarity.

  Emma's knife. Sweet heaven, could it be?

  He felt the familiar rush of excitement that always occurred in

  moments of crisis. And then the sudden, icy calm that he had

  experienced since he was no more than a lad. The certain knowledge

  that he would win at all costs. Or die trying.

  He began crawling in the direction of the glint of sunlight.

  * * *

  Emma could no longer feel her fingers or toes. At first she was

  grateful, for it meant that she was no longer bothered by the pain of

  her torn, bloody flesh. But as she continued to struggle, she felt a

  slight loosening of her bonds. Not enough to be free, but enough to

  allow her to slip her hand low enough to reach under the damp sash at

  her waist.

  As her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, she felt a moment of

  wild relief. If she could cut but one binding, she would be able to

  work herself free. But as she began to saw through the rope, the knife

  slipped from her nerveless fingers and fell to the ground. She nearly

  wept in despair. Then, choking back a sob, she rolled onto her back

  and began fumbling through the wet grass, in a vain search.

  Just then she saw Dunstan hurriedly fit an arrow to his bow, then

  painstakingly pull the bowstring back and take careful aim.

  Tears of pain and rage and frustration welled up and spilled over. She

  had failed Conor. She had lost. England had lost its monarch. And

  Ireland had lost its best hope for freedom.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Moving with the swiftness of a deer, Conor slipped deeper into the

  forest, heading toward the spot where he had seen the flash of

  sunlight.

  As he stepped between twin mounds of boulders, he stopped short at

  the sight that greeted him. Emma, bound hand and foot, was lying in

  the grass. For the space of a heartbeat he froze, afraid that he was too

  late. When her head came up, he felt his heart begin to beat once

  more. Praise heaven, she was alive. That was all that mattered to him.

  She turned her head in a silent signal. Following her lead he turned

  and spotted Dunstan several yards away, his gaze fixed on a spot in

  the distance. Everything about the man, the rigid stance, the bow in

  his hand, the bowstring pulled tautly, told Conor that there was no

  time to take even a moment to aim. In one smooth motion he

  withdrew the -mall, sharp knife from his waist and tossed it. At that

  moment Dunstan caught a blur of movement and turned. Instead of

  piercing his heart, the blade caught Dunstan's uplifted hand, causing

  him to drop the bow. Upon impact, he let out a shriek of pain. The

  sound seemed to reverberate through the forest. When Dunstan

  glanced back to the spot where the queen had been, he could see that

  she was now surrounded by armed soldiers, who had formed a

  protective ring around their monarch.

  "O'Neil." On a torrent of oaths he plucked the knife from his flesh,

  unleashing a river of blood. He spat the word from between clenched

  teeth, then unsheathed his sword. "You've thwarted my plans for the

  last time. How I will enjoy killing you."

  Conor unsheathed his own sword and stood waiting. Though he

  moved not a muscle, there was about him such strength, such power,

  that Dunstan hesitated. But only for a moment. Then, in a blinding

  rage, he charged across the distance separating them.

  "Beware, O'Neil. This duel will be with swords, not words."

  "Aye." Conor's eyes narrowed. "It will give me the greatest pleasure

  to finish what we once started."

  Dunstan drew closer. "Perhaps you should summon the queen's army

  to assist you." With a swagger he attacked. Shocked, he found

  himself facing the most skilled swordsman he'd ever encountered.

  Conor's blade flashed with frightening speed, tearing a wide swath in

  Dunstan's tunic, slashing his sleeve until it hung in tatters. It was plain

  that Conor was toying with him, which only added to Dunstan's

  anger.

  With every thrust, every parry, Conor backed him across the clearing,

  until, with his back against the trunk of a tree, Dunstan had nowhere

  left to go.

  "Who are you?" Dunstan demanded as he was forced to gasp for

  breath.

  "You know who I am." Conor smiled dangerously. He'd needed this.

  Needed the release of a good, hard fight. He'd been itching for it all

  these long, tedious months while he'd played the part of a peacock at

  Court. Now, finally, he was free to be himself.

  "Nay. I don't know you. You're not the queen's rogue. For that man

  could never handle a sword as you do. And your knife. The way you

  tossed it..." Dunstan's voice went shrill with the sudden realization.

  "Who but Heaven's Avenger uses a knife in that manner?'

  Instead of a reply, Conor merely moved in for the kill.

  Across the clearing Emma's eyes widened. The moment Dunstan

  spoke the words, she knew them to be true. This skilled swordsman

  was so much more than the queen's rogue. In fact, he bore little

  resemblance to the man he showed the others at Court. This sleek,

  frightening creature was, without a doubt, the legend who had fueled

  her dreams.

  Dunstan's fear had suddenly become a palpable thing. He was

  sweating profusely, looking for a means of escape.

  Seeing Emma, he made a desperate move. He reached out, catching

  her roughly by the arms and dragging her in front of him as a shield.

  Then, holding the sword against her throat, he shouted, "Unless you

  drop your weapon at once, O'Neil, I'll kill her."

  Emma shook her head. "Don't do it, Conor. You kno
w he'll kill us

  both."

  At that, Dunstan tightened his grasp and pressed the blade against her

  flesh until a thin line of blood stained the bodice of her gown.

  Conor gauged the distance between himself and Dunstan, cursing

  himself for his carelessness. He should have seen to Emma's safety

  first. Now she was the one to pay for his miscalculation.

  "Drop your weapon, O'Neil. Quickly, for I grow impatient." To prove

  his point, Dunstan dug his fingers into Emma's hair and yanked her

  head back viciously, exposing the wound in her throat. "If you really

  are Heaven's Avenger, you know better than any man what she will

  look like with her throat slit."

  Conor tossed aside his sword and lifted his hand in a sign of defeat.

  "Your fight is with me, Dunstan. Let the woman go."

  "Gladly. Now that you're unarmed." Dunstan tossed her aside and

  advanced upon Conor, who stood perfectly still until the last moment.

  Conor managed to avoid the first thrust. But when he danced aside a

  second time, Dunstan's blade caught him in the shoulder, opening a

  wound that spurted a torrent of blood.

  Setting his teeth against the pain, Conor dodged a second attempt and

  brought his fist up, catching Dunstan under the jaw, snapping his

  head back with a vicious jab.

  "So. You think your puny fists can defend against my blade?"

  Dunstan threw back his head and roared. "I would expect such a thing

  from an Irish peasant. Cowards. The lot of you." He advanced, his

  lips curled in a sneer. "It won't be as satisfying to kill you as it would

  have been to kill our gutless queen. But, so the day isn't wasted, I'll

  take your life slowly and painfully. A-cut here..." He slashed out,

  laying open Conor's arm. Blood stained Conor's sleeve and dripped

  from his fingers to soak the ground at his feet, "...another cut there."

  Again he sliced, catching Conor's thigh with such brutal force it sent

  him dropping to his knees.

  Emma struggled frantically against her bonds as Dunstan advanced,

  his sword raised. With a roar of cruel laughter he stood over his

  opponent. Suddenly his smile faded. His eyes narrowed. "I tire of this

  sport, O'Neil. I think perhaps it is time to end it." Lifting his sword

  high in the air, he moved in for the kill. "Now, O'Neil, prepare to die."

  He was smiling in satisfaction at the thought of what he was about to

  do.

  Suddenly, shattering the stillness of the forest was the queen's voice.

  "The two of you will explain yourselves at once."

  Elizabeth sat regally upon her mount, surrounded by Blystone and her

  soldiers, surveying the bloody scene in the forest.

  One by one, the titled ladies and gentlemen who had been invited to

  join the hunt began to arrive and could do nothing more than gape in

  silence.

  With a look of hatred at his enemy, Dunstan lowered his sword and

  bowed to his queen.

  Elizabeth could barely contain her temper, hurling her words first at

  Dunstan. "How dare you spoil my shot with that fearful scream! That

  was the finest stag I've ever seen. And now I've lost him."

  "I was caught by surprise, Majesty, when O'Neil viciously attacked

  me."

  "Attacked?" Her eyes narrowed with fury, and she turned on Conor.

  "And you! Look at you. Fighting in the dirt like a,peasant. First you

  leave the palace without my permission, ruining my morning. And

  now you steal my chance at a trophy. This time you have gone too far,

  Conor O'Neil. Do you think my affection for you is so great that I will

  forgive anything?"

  "Nay, Majesty." Blood oozed from Conor's wounds, staining his torn

  clothing. But all he could see was Emma, lying on the ground,

  bleeding from a wound to her throat, her hands and feet still bound.

  As he started toward her, Dunstan strode forward and cut her bonds,

  freeing her.

  Emma lay in the grass, struggling to restore feeling to her raw,

  wounded wrists and ankles. Though she struggled to remain alert, she

  seemed to fade in and out as the voices were raised in anger around

  her.

  Elizabeth was in a regal temper. "You will explain at once what the

  two of you were fighting about."

  Before anyone could speak the queen's soldiers came riding up,

  forcing Celestine to walk in front of them at swordpoint."Majesty,"

  the captain of the guards called, "this woman was found hiding in the

  forest. She claims to be your cousin."

  The moment Celestine stepped into the clearing and caught sight of

  Dunstan, she threw herself into his arms.

  "Oh, my love," she cried. There had been plenty of time for her to

  prepare her defense. As her beloved brother had taught her, the best

  way to deflect criticism was to attack. "What has this traitor done to

  you?"

  "Traitor?" Elizabeth eyes were growing stormier by the moment. All

  around them, the crowd fell silent. "What do you mean by that,

  cousin?"

  "That one." Celestine pointed a finger at Conor. "He calls himself

  your loyal subject, Majesty. But while Conor O'Neil pretended to be

  devoted to you, he was, in truth, plotting your death."

  "My death?" Elizabeth went deathly pale while the crowd began

  murmuring among themselves.

  Then the queen nodded, remembering. "Indeed, an arrow sang over

  my head and landed harmlessly in some foliage in the forest. It

  happened just as Blystone and I heard that horrible cry."

  Dunstan, taking his lead from Celestine, nodded. "I blame myself,

  Majesty. I have long believed that O'Neil still owed his allegiance to

  the land of his birth. It was only recently that I began to realize that

  what he really intended was to spy on you."

  "Spy?" Elizabeth turned to Conor with a look of shock and dismay. "I

  had thought this to be nothing more than a feud between two rivals.

  But now..." Now, as the enormity of the situation began to sink in, she

  was feeling more than a little -dazed.

  "You must believe me, Majesty." Celestine even managed a tear,

  which rolled down her cheek. "When Lord Dunstan and I learned

  what Conor O'Neil was planning, we hurried out here, risking our

  own lives, to stop him before he could carry out his murderous

  scheme."

  The murmur of the crowd grew louder.

  Dully, Elizabeth looked around, seeing the things her soldiers had

  brought forward. The bow and quiver of arrows which the soldiers

  had found beside the tree. A knife. Two bloody swords. It did indeed

  look as though there had been a life-and-death battle waged here.

  She turned to Conor and demanded imperiously, "Do you have

  anything to say to my cousin's charges?"

  Conor's voice was deadly soft. "It would seem that Celestine is a far

  more accomplished liar than I've given her credit for. And today, she

  piles lie upon lie, until, if she should succeed, all of England will

  believe her."

  Elizabeth fixed him with a look of hatred. "Why should I not believe

  my own cousin?"

  "Think, Majesty. None of what has happened in the past months was

  an accident. Not the marriage of Cele
stine to Emma's grieving father.

  Nor the poisoning of Daniel Vaughn and his little daughter, Sarah."

  "Poisoning?" Elizabeth's head came up sharply. "What is this? How

  can you possibly accuse my cousin of such a thing?"

  "I saw Daniel and Sarah, Majesty. The vacant stares, the pasty flesh,

  the gradual weakening of their limbs until they couldn't even stand

  without support."

  "How could you have seen them? When was this?"

  Though he was aware of the muttering of the crowd, he met her angry

  look without flinching. "When I helped Emma spirit them to safety."

  Holding a square of linen to her bloody throat, Emma managed to get

  to her feet to stand beside Conor. If she couldn't speak, at least she

  could lend her support in some small way.

  Elizabeth pointed one bejewelled finger. "You spirited them away?

  They didn't just abandon Celestine as she'd claimed?"

  "Nay, Majesty." Though he was growing weaker, Conor caught

  Emma's arm, holding her when she staggered. "I sent them where

  Celestine could never harm them again."

  The queen's voice issued a challenge. "And where would that be,

  Conor O'Neil?"

  "To Ireland, Majesty. To my family estate of Ballinarin."

  "Why did you do this, Conor O'Neil?"

  Before he could reply, Dunstan said, "Because he and Emma Vaughn

  have become lovers, Majesty."

  Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The silence said more than any

  words.

  At last Elizabeth nodded. "So." The word came out in a long, slow

  sigh. She looked at Conor as though seeing him for the first time.

  "Everything that my cousin tells me is true. You are devious. Clever.

  A traitor and a spy."

  "I am..." Conor struggled to hold on, though the pain of his wounds

  had his head spinning. It was absolutely imperative that he deliver the

  proof of Dunstan's crimes into the queen's hands. He actually reached

  a hand to the scroll hidden inside his tunic. But his mind refused to

  obey. He could feel himself slipping away. He stumbled and caught at

  the stump of a tree for support. "I am, as always, your devoted..."