Lady of Conquest (9 page)

She hurled the candle with both hands, and he thought with a chill that if it had been a sword, it would have gone right through the arm he raised to ward it away. In two strides he covered the distance between them and caught her wrists in his hands, gently but with strength. He wanted to avoid a full-fledged brawl at all costs. His men had withdrawn from the chamber, but he knew they waited in the corridor outside, speculating on the girl’s curious behavior.

The flatness in her eyes warned him that she saw him but did not see him. Before she could open her mouth to scream again, he pulled her face into his shoulder and rocked back and forth on his knees until he felt the resistance leave her body. The breath left his own body when her arms crept up to encircle his neck. He stroked her shoulders, feeling the tensed muscles relax beneath his fingertips.

Her words were muffled into his chest. “I was afraid.”

“Nightmares again?” he murmured.

She nodded. He scooped her up in his arms and deposited her on the feather mattress, the lightness of her body compared to its length surprising him anew. She pulled away from him as soon as her body touched the bed. The last traces of the nightmare left her eyes, and a look of annoyance passed over her brow only to be replaced by a poorly concealed look of dread. An unfamiliar desire to protect mingled with exasperation as he saw that the dress she had worn for the evening had been replaced by a faded jerkin and well-worn breeches.

“I feel better. Thank you. You may go,” she said, her polite smile stopping just short of her eyes.

Conn raised an eyebrow. “Am I being dismissed?”

She shrugged. “Can one dismiss a king without the risk of execution?”

He suppressed a sigh. “If I was going to execute you for dismissing me or avoiding me, I would have had a multitude of opportunities in the past few weeks.”

“I swore my allegiance, sire, not my affection,” she said, her voice sounding childish and shrill. She cleared her throat.

Conn leaned forward with his hands on both sides of her legs. Squirming sideways only brought her closer to his muscled forearms. Gelina found it impossible to resist his level gaze. The moonlight disarmed the more dangerous planes of his face, softening the fluid lines into a loving concern that set her heart to hammering against her ribs.

“I want to be your friend, Gelina,” he said softly.

She stared at a spot just below his beard. “And I suppose you’re accustomed to having what you want.”

Conn recoiled from her acid tone with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl and ran a hand through his hair. She settled back reluctantly on the pillows as he made no move to leave. Locking her hands together, she surveyed him through veiled eyes, their brightness shadowed by the thick fringe of lashes that framed them.

“I meant no offense, sire. But I can hardly expect you to neglect your raping and pillaging to amuse a homeless waif.”

Conn exhaled through pursed lips, torn between the desire to laugh and the urge to box her ears. “I am sorry to disappoint you but neither I nor the Fianna indulge in raping or pillaging. Rapine and mayhem have sadly lost their charms for the Fianna.”

“How tragic for you!”

Conn dropped all pretense of forced politeness and laughed. “You are a contrary little wretch, aren’t you?”

Gelina blinked sweetly. “If it pleases my king to think me so. Does His Highness believe he can correct such a fault?”

“Well.” Conn stroked his beard. “I daresay I cannot beat it out of you, for that would only enhance your dreadful expectations of me. Roll over on your stomach, please.”

Her eyes widened in alarm at his sudden command. “Pardon me?”

“Don’t fret. I've no intention of taking my hand to your backside, however much you might deserve it. I want to see your wound.”

Scowling, Gelina rolled to her stomach and rested her head on her arms. Conn’s hands deftly stripped the jerkin from her shoulder. Gelina flinched at his touch, acutely conscious of the muscled thigh pressed against her hip. His thumb gently brushed her shoulder, and she wondered how many enemies those powerful hands had throttled.

“Must you quiver like a frightened rabbit?”

She glared at him over her shoulder. He caught her gaze and held it until she was forced to look away.

“I’m not frightened of anything,” she said, her chin protruding imperceptibly. “Especially not you.”

Conn hid his smile behind a cough. His fingers gently traced the raised scar that had slowly faded to healthy pink.

“I nearly skewered your heart, Gelina. I shiver to the bone to think of it,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

Gelina closed her eyes for a moment, shaken. In unspoken agreement, neither of them had mentioned the cavern. Anyone who dared to question her about her past bit back their words quickly, silenced by the blue ice in Conn’s eyes.

His fingers lightly massaged the taut skin around the scar. “If your brother hadn’t turned his back on me when I wounded him, you could have dodged my blow, couldn’t you? How did you see through the cloak?” he asked.

“I beat the cloak against the rocks until it was sheer. We kept the torches in front of us. And you didn’t wound my brother. You killed him,” she added flatly.

“You’re very adept with a sword,” Conn said, ignoring her last statement. His fingers glided over a shoulder blade that was losing its jutting angles to become gently rounded. “It must have taken years of practice to get that good.”

“Time was never something we lacked.” Gelina pushed a stray curl out of her eyes and stared over her shoulder at him. “I practiced and practiced until I believed I could beat any warrior without the illusion of being a monster or a giant.”

“Do you still believe that?”

She could not be sure if it was a challenge she saw in his level gaze but she met it with candor. “Yes, milord.”

A cool breeze from the open window lifted the hair from Gelina’s scalp. The companionable silence between them deepened as the flat of Conn’s palm rubbed away the last tense hints of the nightmare from the nape of her neck. His hand wandered down her back with a will of its own, tracing each bump and hollow of her spine with the pad of his thumb. The silky flesh rose and fell beneath his hand. He knew she was a breath away from slumber. The folds of the jerkin halted his dazed exploration, and he was reaching to draw it down farther when he realized what he was doing. He stared at his trembling hands.

He jumped to his feet as if catapulted off the feather mattress. “There is no need to address me as milord,” he said, his voice sounding strained and imperious even to his own ears. “You may call me Conn.”

Gelina threw herself onto her back, her temper not improved at being bounced away from the promise of a sleep untainted by nightmares and protected by the soothing warmth of his hands. “Do I fail you at anything else, milord? Eating or breathing perhaps?”

His laughter rolled out in hearty waves, dispelling the tension between them. “From what I’ve seen, you eat like a piglet. You’re already starting to fill out.”

He brushed the back of his hand across her soft cheek, and she struggled to hide a real smile. “You have Nimbus to thank. He threatens me with a song and dance unless I eat a dozen oatcakes a day.”

“I would grow fat myself to avoid his squawking and gallumphing,” he agreed.

His eyes traveled the room, and he frowned as if displeased at the scarred table and straight-backed chair he found. Ashes grown cold winters ago were heaped in the dusty fireplace. Cobwebs festooned the low rafters. His foot tapped on the wooden floor to hide the unfamiliar tension that stretched his body taut.

“Tomorrow night,” he said, “meet me in the great hall. I will teach you to play chess. I believe you will like it. It involves much warring and conquering.”

“I’m familiar with the game. My father had many formidable chess opponents.”

From somewhere in the mists of his memory, Conn remembered an inquisitive pair of tiny green eyes peering over an elaborately carved chessboard. “So he did,” he murmured, squeezing her hand before walking to the door.

He opened the door. The torches from the corridor threw his face into light as he turned back to her.

“You cannot stifle your smiles forever, Gelina. My charm is almost as renowned as my fighting abilities.”

“And your humility?”

“Equally legendary.” He bowed deeply from the waist and stepped into the hall with a wink, pulling the door shut behind him.

Conn would have been gratified to see the smile that played around her lips as she rolled to her side and pulled the coverlet over her shoulders. He leaned against her door for a long time, waiting for the hint of a whimper or moan from the silent room and afraid to admit that he was disappointed when none came.

Gelina awoke the next morning with a sated yawn and a catlike stretch that pulled her muscles past the boundaries of comfort and back again. It never ceased to amaze her that the first waking breath that filled her lungs didn’t reek of the damp, stale air of the cave. The sunlit room resounded with the early morning birdsongs of larks and robins.

She sat up and threw her long legs over the side of the bed, starting as her feet were cushioned on soft wool instead of meeting the chill resistance of hard wood.

Rubbing her eyes, she peered around the room, wondering if dreams still pursued her.

A fire blazed cheerily on the hearth, the morning chill eaten away by the blazing logs. She rose from the bed, sinking her toes into the plush rug. Her feet carried her to the wooden table in the corner to find its splintered top covered with a brightly flowered tablecloth. Steaming pastries dripping apples and peaches and smeared with honey sat on a golden platter. She poked one curious finger into a pastry and brought it to her mouth, savoring the sweetness that coated her tongue.

On the chest beside the earthenware basin and pitcher lay an ivory brush and comb she had never seen before. She picked up the brush and tugged it through the rumpled hair just starting to curl at the nape of her neck.

Peeking behind an ornate screen that blocked off a corner of the chamber, she discovered a tub full of warm, scented bathwater poured by some silent servant while she slept. Without hesitation she slipped off the jerkin and stepped into the tub, crinkling her nose at the overwhelming scent of gardenias. She sank into the water, her eyes closing.

One hand reached around to touch the wound on her back in unwitting imitation of Conn’s caress. She twisted to look at her image in the mirror. The scar had faded like the memories of her nightmare. Only Conn’s kindness seemed tangible in the bright morning sunshine of the cozy bedchamber.

She dried herself and donned one of the simple cotton dresses hanging behind another screen. The material hung gracefully on her tall frame. She folded the leather breeches Nimbus had stolen from a sleeping soldier and placed them under her pillow. She was not doing it to please Conn, she told herself sternly, but to amuse Nimbus.

She wound her way through the corridors of the fortress. The sun shining through the unshuttered windows cast delicate patterns on the whitewashed walls. She hummed softly and whirled around, delighting in the unfamiliar way the skirt billowed around her ankles. The tune caught in her throat as a hulking figure appeared in front of her.

The face was in shadow but there was no mistaking the ragged braids billowing out from his head. He stood over six feet and seven inches tall, with one fist outstretched. Gelina backed against the wall, mute with terror.

Stepping from shadow into the sunshine-checkered area of the corridor, the apparition spoke. “Don’t be afraid, lass. I brought you these.” His gentle brogue belied his size.

For the first time she saw clutched in his hairy paw a dainty bouquet of azalea blossoms.

She reached out a trembling hand to take them as he said, “My name is Goll MacMorna. I’m the chieftain of the Fianna. Remember my name if you should need me.” Ducking his head shyly, he disappeared down the corridor as silently as he had appeared.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she slid down the wall to a sitting position, her hands clutching the sweetly scented wildflowers.

She lay awake in her chambers that night staring blindly into the darkness. The memory of her nightmare reached out with icy fingers to pluck at the strings of her guilt. Rodney, his black eyes accusing and furious, seemed to stare back from the dark.

She was surrounded by the Fianna, was well fed and clothed by the very man they had sworn to destroy. Her days were spent with Nimbus in merriment and game playing until she fell exhausted into the carved mahogany bed imported from a land she had never seen.

And Conn. The blue-eyed monster they had hated until they were blind and sick with it. He had been everywhere she had turned in that long day, seeking her out for a tour of the stables, excusing himself from Sheela to give her a hasty chess lesson. The more churlish her temper, the more he’d delighted in teasing her. Her defiant scowls had only challenged him to try that much harder to coax a reluctant smile from her lips. Gelina could almost feel her hatred melting beneath the irresistible warmth of his charm.

“What would Rodney say?” she whispered to the shadows. She answered the question the only way she knew how. “He’ll never know. He’ll never know. He’s dead.”