Conor
Author
Ruth Langan
Reads
19,9K
Chapters
23
Chapter 1
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 is telling 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 in 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 stared 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 be persuaded to let you see your father.”
“Oh, thank...”
She held up a hand. “Save your gratitude. Before I grant this favor, you must do something for me, to prove that you deserve such kindness.”
“Anything. Anything,” the girl said with a sob of relief.
“As you know, I am cousin to the queen. As such, I can arrange for you to live in the palace, and act as lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth.”
“But I...have had no training in such things. I wouldn’t know what to do. And I would be all alone, for I know nobody at court.”
“All the better. You will get to know them. And one in particular.” Celestine lowered her voice, to avoid being overheard by any of the servants who might be passing by. “It is rumored that the queen is enamored of a certain Irishman, whose advice she values. I need to know what advice he gives the queen, and precisely how she intends to act upon that advice.”
The girl’s hand flew to her mouth. “You wish me to spy?”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. There are no secrets at court. I merely wish to know what everyone else shall eventually learn. Only I wish to know it sooner.”
The girl was already shaking her head. “I cannot do this. What you ask is wrong.”
“So be it, Emma. The choice is yours.” Celestine turned to stare out the window. “I have heard of so many... accidents in the country. A frail child falling from a hay wagon or from the back of a runaway steed.”
Emma sucked in a breath at the bold threat to her little sister.
Celestine turned to fix her with a steely look. “Know this, my ,girl. You will never see your father or sister again. Until,” she added with a sneer, “they are laid in the ground.”
“Oh. How can you be so heartless?” The girl turned away to hide her tears.
“Very well, you sniveling little coward.” Her stepmother waved a hand. “Go. Leave me now. Put your own comfort and your lofty scruples above the safety of those you profess to love.” She turned toward the door. “One of the servants will see you out And the entire household staff will be instructed that you are forbidden to enter your father’s house again.”
“Wait.” Emma began to pace.
Her stepmother counted to ten before saying aloud, “I grow weary of your foolish indecision.”
“All right.” Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll do as you ask.”
Celestine carefully composed herself to hide the glint of triumph in her eyes. It had all been so simple. She had correctly guessed Emma’s one weakness. “I will send word to the palace at once.” She looked the girl up and down and said sarcastically, “I would hope you can find something more fetching than those horrible rags you are wearing. And try to do something with that unfashionable hair. After all, your only purpose in serving my cousin is to snag the interest of the Irishman. See to it as quickly as possible. His name is Conor O’Neil.”
