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Chapter 1
Dublin, April 1567
Misty and silent, the starless night greeted Hugh O'Neill when he stepped into the courtyard. In the fog-shrouded distance, a coach turned onto the lane leading to the mansion. When it came to a halt, Hugh stepped forward and opened the door. “Patrick O'Donnelly?” he asked.
“In the flesh.”
Hugh looked at the other occupants of the coach, his attention fixed on one in particular. “Is she ill?”
“We slipped her a mild sleepin' draught,” Patrick answered. “She thinks we've anchored off Barnstable Bay, and I'm not lookin' forward to tellin' her differently.”
Hugh's gaze fell on Maeve, sleeping in Polly's arms. “And the child?”
“Too much adventure wearied her.”
“I'll take Lady Kathryn,” Hugh said. “You carry the child.”
Hugh reached up and lifted Kathryn into his arms, then turned toward the mansion. Instinctively seeking his warmth, Kathryn nestled against his chest. The intimate gesture surprised Hugh. He paused for a brief moment and stared down at the hauntingly lovely face that had smiled at him in a thousand dreams.
Upstairs, Hugh walked into one of the bedchambers facing the rear gardens and gently placed Kathryn down on the bed. Right behind him, Peg gestured to Patrick and Polly to bring Maeve into the adjoining chamber.
I hope she's as biddable as she is lovely. Hugh thought, leaning over to get a closer look. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of copper hair from her face.
Green eyes opened, and Kathryn stared at the masculine face, merely inches from hers. Her eyelids closed again, and she drifted into drugged sleep.
How could this beautiful vision have loved his uncle? Hugh wondered, an unfamiliar and wholly unpleasant pang of jealousy stabbing him. For that matter, how had she even survived his notoriously impulsive temper?
As if caught in a nightmare, Kathryn whimpered in her sleep. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.
“Rest easy,” Hugh whispered, his fingertips brushing the teardrop away. His deep, masculine voice seemed to quiet her. Hugh turned to leave and discovered, to his great embarrassment, the others were staring curiously at him.
Kathryn finally awakened at mid-morning the following day. Groggy, she looked around the chamber with detached interest and noted its rich furnishings.
Remarkably rich accommodations for an English inn, she thought, but the memory of her arrival eluded her.
In spite of her queasiness, Kathryn sat up. Glancing at her night shift, she wondered why she wore a gown that wasn't hers. To whom did it belong? And why couldn't she remember arriving at the inn last night? What was happening to her? Was she losing her wits?
Polly opened the chamber door and beckoned to someone waiting outside. Patrick walked in and crossed the chamber to stand at the foot of the bed. When she looked at him, Kathryn's eyes mirrored her confusion.
“Katie . . .” Patrick hesitated, reluctant to complete the task at hand. Cocking her head to one side, Kathryn looked at him through blurred vision.
Unnoticed, Hugh stood in the doorway and watched the scene unfolding. His sharp eyes swept his unknowing hostage and noted her confusion. Kathryn shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs from her mind, and her luxurious mane of hair swirled around her like a fiery veil. Enchanted by the sight, Hugh relaxed against the doorjamb.
“Katie,” Patrick began again, then glanced at the doorway. Following his gaze, Kathryn gasped in surprise.
“Good morning,” Hugh said cheerfully.
“Y-y-you!” Kathryn jerked the coverlet up to her chin.
“Hugh O'Neill, at your service.” He bowed with exaggerated gallantry. “I'm flattered you remember me.”
“Where am I?” Kathryn demanded, turning back to Patrick.
“Dublin,” he answered, inwardly cursing the other man's impatience.
“You've betrayed me! You vile, contemptible . . . !” Kathryn's body nearly shook with rage. Unmindful of her scanty attire, Kathryn leapt out of bed and faced them like a hostile warrior. How best to make her escape?
“This is the safest place for Maeve and you,” Patrick tried to explain. “Hugh—”
“Seek refuge in the lion's den?” Kathryn cut him off. “You blockhead! This O'Neill wants my children dead.”
Kathryn glanced at Polly, ordering, “Get Maeve. We're leaving.”
Enjoying his guest's wild dramatics, Hugh chuckled softly and motioned Polly to stay where she was. When Kathryn glared at him, his chuckle gave birth to a mocking laugh.
Kathryn grabbed the brass candlestick from the bedside table. Clutching it, she advanced on her captor.
“Try to stop me,” she threatened, “and I'll kill you.”
The mocking laughter died. Motionless, Hugh waited for her attack, his gaze fixed on hers.
“Stand aside,” Kathryn screamed, panicking at his silent refusal to retreat. She raised the candlestick to strike, but Hugh grabbed her wrist. Inches apart, their gazes met and clashed.
“If I had wanted you dead,” Hugh told her, “believe me, madam, you would be.”
Realizing Kathryn's complexion suddenly matched the green of her eyes, Hugh flung the candlestick aside, grabbed her around the waist, and rushed here across the chamber. Kathryn's stomach heaved and emptied its meager contents into the chamber pot. Weakened, she leaned heavily against his legs.
“You'll be fine,” Hugh assured her. “The sleeping draught turned your stomach.” He helped her back to the bed and left, taking Patrick with him.
“I want my daughter,” Kathryn insisted, trying to rise.
“Maeve's safe.” Polly forced her mistress to lie back on the bed.
“You knew.” Kathryn accused her.
“Would you have preferred remainin' with Turlough?” the other girl countered. “At least, Hugh played no part in Shane's murder.”
“Oh, go away.” Kathryn turned her back in dismissal and promptly fell asleep. Polly sighed with relief. The worst was over. The tempest had passed. If only she could be certain that bringing Kathryn to Dublin had been the right thing to do.
The draperies were drawn aside the next morning, and sunshine invaded the chamber. Moaning, Kathryn burrowed deeper beneath the coverlet.
“It's time to join the ranks of the livin',” Polly announced loudly.
“Have you no mercy?” Kathryn struggled to sit up. A knock on the door drew her attention, but before she could answer, it flew open.
Maeve dashed in, jumped on the bed, and gave her mother a gigantic hug. Kathryn's mood lightened immeasurably as she gazed at her daughter's beaming face.
“I like it here,” Maeve told her. “Uncle Hugh's nice, not like Uncle Turlough.”
“Uncle Hugh?” Kathryn echoed, brushing a stray lock of copper hair from her daughter's face. She forced herself to smile, saying, “I'm very glad you like it here, sweet.”
“Uncle Hugh said I'm named for a great Irish queen,” the little girl continued, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. “I'm to be queen of Ireland someday. Uncle Hugh promised.”
“How wonderful!” Kathryn jugged her daughter. “I'm certain you'll be the grandest queen ever, and far better than Elizabeth Tudor.”
“Elizabeth who?”
A chuckle sounded from the doorway, drawing their attention. With his arms folded across his chest, Hugh leaned against the doorjamb.
“Good morning,” he greeted Kathryn. “Feeling better?”
Uncertain of what to do, Kathryn stared at him. Should she fear him? If he meant them no harm, why had he abducted them?
Well built, Kathryn unconsciously inventoried Hugh's person. Eyes that sparkle when he smiles—a charming smile . . .
“Mama, say good morning or you'll be rude,” Maeve chided in a loud whisper.
“Good morning,” Kathryn blushed at where her thoughts had drifted. “I'm much better.”
Uninvited, Hugh stepped into the chamber and sauntered over to the foot of the bed.
“Do come in, Uncle Hugh,” Kathryn drawled, irritated.
“Come along, Maeve,” Polly said, “Let's go order breakfast and a bath for your mother.
As he stared at Kathryn, Hugh's smile froze on his face. Peg's overlarge night shift had slipped, and one of Kathryn's shoulders was bared, giving her a seductive appearance.
What the devil is wrong with me? He asked himself, feeling his groin tighten. Many comely wenches have graced my bed, and they weren't there because I'd abducted them.
Hugh scowled and looked away, but almost immediately, his gaze was drawn back to her irresistible shoulder. Sweet Jesu! he swore silently. She was as tempting as original sin!
Kathryn's gaze followed his. Scarlet with embarrassment, she yanked the offending night shift up.
“We've much to discuss, but I'll be gone most of the day,” Hugh said, wondering if her rosy blush went all the way down to her . . . He cleared his throat, banishing the thought from his mind, and asked, “Will you sup with me?”
“As you wish.” When the supper hour arrived, Kathryn had no plans to be in Dublin, never mind supping with him.
“Until this evening, then.” Thinking she would cooperate after all, Hugh started to leave but paused at the door, saying, “You've the freedom of the house but don't entertain any foolish notions. You'll be closely watched.” Then he was gone.
Kathryn leaned back against the headboard and stared at the door. What business does he have with me? Could he be persuaded to help me get to England? Closely watched? The arrogant bastard!
Despairing at her shabby appearance, Kathryn paused at the top of the stairs and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt, the one she'd worn on her escape from Dungannon. Though freshly laundered and once quite becoming, the skirt was faded and the linen blouse as simple as a peasant's. The very thing one wears to a picnic, she thought with a resigned sigh. But there was nothing to be done for it now.
Kathryn squared her shoulders and, unaware she was sealing her fate for all time, started down the stairs. As she descended to the foyer, her thoughts in turmoil tripped over each other. What business does this O'Neill have with me? she wondered for the hundredth time. Does he seek my permission to steal my children's birthright? She would yield nothing. On the other hand, she admitted to herself, he had been kind. Perhaps, feminine sweetness would persuade him to help her get to England.
Kathryn hesitated at the bottom of the stairs and looked around the deserted foyer. Peg appeared from nowhere and gave her a tentative smile, then escorted her to the family dining chamber.
Hugh turned, smiling, when the door opened. Clad in chestnut-brown breeches and jerkin with a creamy, silk shirt beneath, Hugh was informally yet elegantly attired. His brown eyes sparkled and his ruddy complexion glowed with good health.
Avoiding his stare, Kathryn glanced around the chamber. The room reeked of masculinity. Exquisite tapestries depicting the hunt hung on the walls, and heavy draperies covered the windows. A cheery fire had been lit in the hearth to ward off the evening chill. Hugh was at ease in the rich surroundings, a fact that did not escape Kathryn.
Hugh crossed the chamber and offered her his arm, then escorted her to the table. “You're looking well, my lady.”
“I beg forgiveness for my attire,” Kathryn said, high color rising upon her cheeks. Compared to him, she felt positively ragged. “I—we left Dungannon in haste and—”
“It's a problem easily solved,” Hugh interrupted, dismissing her apology with a wave of his hand. “I'll take care of it in the morning.”
“No!” Kathryn cried. “You must not.”
“I insist.” Hugh was infuriatingly pleasant, trying to keep her off balance until she agreed to what he wanted.
Kathryn opened her mouth to protest but was thwarted by Peg's arrival with their supper. The housekeeper presented them with stuffed and roasted hen, greens in oil and vinegar, braised leeks, and wine.
Kathryn decided it would be easier to set him straight when his stomach was full and his mind sluggish. Giving her full attention to the meal, she ate slowly and occasionally stole a glance at Hugh, who seemed never to take his eyes from her.
“What business did you wish to discuss?” Kathryn asked, breaking the silence.
“Mixing business with pleasure is not a good practice,” Hugh chided her with a mocking smile. “You must cultivate more patience, my lady.”
How dare he scold one! Kathryn thought, her anger rising like a sudden gust of wind. Not daring to rebuke him, she seethed in silence.
“There'll be time enough for business after we've supped,” Hugh added. Lifting the wine goblet to his lips, he noted the mutinous set to her jaw and hoped she wouldn't explode.
“I stand corrected, my lord,” Kathryn replied with a smile, remembering her vow of sweetness.
Hugh choked on his wine. The vinegar in her eyes belied the sugar on her tongue. Hugh realized he'd underestimated this slip of a girl, as evidenced by her tight self-control. Thinking his plans would best be served if she relaxed, Hugh refilled her wine goblet.
“I'm told you visited my stables today,” Hugh remarked pleasantly. “Entertain no foolish thoughts, my lady. Horse thieving in Ireland is punishable by death.”
Kathryn choked on her wine. “I don't believe borrowing is punishable by death,” she countered. “Besides, as you said, mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea.”
Hugh's lips quirked in amusement. “I stand corrected, my lady. Please call me Hugh—all my friends do. And you?”
“Me, my lord?”
“And what do your friends call you?”
“Lady Kathryn.”
Hugh arched a brow at her. “Tell me about yourself, Katie.”
“Lady Kathryn. Remember?”
Hugh's lips quirked. “Tell me about your life in England and your family, Lady Kathryn.”
“There's not much to tell,” she answered. “Basildon Castle has been the home of the Devereuxes since the days of the Tudor, the queen's grandfather. As a reward for his loyalty and service to the Tudor, my great-grandfather married my great-grandmother, the heiress of Basildon Castle. My father met and married my mother when he was in France on old King Henry's business.” Forgetting herself, Kathryn smiled and added, “They married without the king's permission.”
Hugh smiled. “Your father must have been a brave man.”
Kathryn nodded. “Being in love with love, King Henry forgave his favorite fourth cousin. When father died, we became wards of the queen.”
“We?”
“My brother, sisters, and myself.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Two—both younger. What about you?”
“I'm alone,” Hugh answered. “Part of old King Henry's policy required the Irish chieftains to send their sons, willing or not, to England to be educated in one of the noble households. Molded into Englishmen, in a manner of speaking.”
“If you're more at home in England, why return to Ireland?” Kathryn asked, though she already knew the answer.”
“My father, Matthew, was Shane's half brother,” Hugh told her. “His older half brother. A rumor spread that Mathew was illegitimate and unable to inherit, but bastard or not, my grandfather Conn O'Neill named my father his successor. The Dublin Parliament supported his claim to Tyrone while Shane enjoyed popular support in Ulster.”
Kathryn looked away. “I've heard the tale.”
“Then you know Shane's men killed my father, and when my older brother sued for his rightful title, he also suffered an untimely accident.”
“D-did my husband m-murder your brother?” Kathryn stammered.
“Shane was visiting the Tudor court when Brian died,” Hugh told her, refilling her wine goblet.
“Who murdered Brian?”
“Turlough.”
Knowing her late husband had probably ordered the execution, Kathryn lost her appetite but forced herself to sip the wine. Hugh certainly had valid grievances against Shane. Were Maeve and she about to be slaughtered because of her husband's crimes against this man?
“Did you love him?” Hugh asked, unable to stop himself.
“W-what?”
“Did you love my uncle? Were you happy?”
“How dare you!” Kathryn's flaring anger banished her fears. “My life with Shane is none of your business.”
Hugh grinned. “Again, my lady, I stand corrected.”
The remainder of the meal passed without argument. Speaking of inconsequential matters, Hugh managed to draw a smile or two from his beautiful guest. Kathryn's wine goblet never emptied, and by supper's end, her head was spinning. Hugh stood and offered Kathryn his arm, then escorted her across the foyer to his study.
Emboldened by the wine, Kathryn openly appraised the chamber. A desk sat near a window, and opposite the door, an inviting fire had been lit in the hearth. Two comfortable-looking chairs had been set there.
Hugh ushered Kathryn into one chair, then sat in the other. He looked at her and wondered how best to begin.
“Why was I brought here?” Kathryn asked, solving his problem.
“Insuring your safety was of utmost importance,” Hugh answered smoothly. “The second reason is . . . as soon as possible, we will marry.”
Not another one, Kathryn thought. Her vow of womanly sweetness fled her mind. “I beg your pardon,” she said, “but have you taken leave of your senses?”
“You will marry me,” Hugh repeated, his voice low, emphasizing each word.
“Ignorance must be a family trait,” Kathryn snapped.
“Your family or mine?” Hugh shot back.
“I shan't quibble nor will I wed you,” Kathryn glared at him, but the grim set to his mouth frightened her. Baiting her captor was extreme folly.
“Please understand,” she pleaded. “I am recently widowed and have no desire to remarry.”
“Recently widowed and remarried is preferable to a great many other things,” Hugh said coldly. “Wouldn't you agree?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Heaven forbid!” First the chit is meek, Hugh thought in growing disgust, then she's the boldest of vixens—whatever suits her purpose at the moment. He took several deep, calming breaths and then continued, “I mean, being the countess of Tyrone is preferable to being homeless or at Turlough's mercy.”
“Countess of Tyrone?” Kathryn echoed. “You speak in riddles.”
“Listen carefully,” Hugh said, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no place in England. Your mother has remarried, and when your brother's grown and wed, Basildon Castle will be his wife's domain. You'd live as a poor relation. The queen might wed you to an Englishman, but would he cherish your children, sired by an Irish rebel?” Hugh let that hang in the air for a brief moment, then admitted, “A union between us would benefit both of us.”
“How so?” asked Kathryn.
“The queen refused to name me earl because of Shane,” Hugh replied, “and the reverse was true for him.” Reluctant to promise her what he must, Hugh stood and walked to his desk, then poured himself a glass of whiskey and turned around to look at her. “If we unite, the queen will acknowledge me the earl of Tyrone, and if you deliver a son, I will name him my heir.”
“The queen is no fool,” Kathryn said, “She would refuse us permission to marry.”
“What makes you think I don't already have her permission?” Hugh countered.
“If, as you say, England has no place for my children and me,” Kathryn returned, “I could return to Dungannon. Eventually, my son will inherit anyway.”
“Return to Turlough? I think not.”
“Turlough only desires what Shane possessed,” she told him.
“Very perceptive,” Hugh said, admiring her logic. “It's a rare woman who's blessed with uncommon beauty and a keen mind.”
Kathryn bristled at his condescending attitude and gave a fair imitation of the Irish lilt. “ 'Tis lucky I am to have met the rare man who appreciates both.”
“It was a compliment,” Hugh said, refusing to be provoked, then went on, “Turlough is the O'Neill and, I am told, wants to marry you. If you return to Dungannon, he'll marry you or kill you trying.”
That was true. Patrick had implied as much. Kathryn knew she was losing this battle of wits. “Why would you want to help Shane's widow and children?” she asked. “He murdered your father, possibly ordered your brother's death.”
“There's no other way. Together we win; separately, we cancel each other out.”
Kathryn stood up and crossed the chamber to stand in front of him. “You would actually name Shane's son your heir?”
“Yes.”
Turning away, Kathryn considered his words for several long moments. “I'll think about it,” she finally said.
Hugh's hand shot out and whirled her around. Their bodies were only a few disturbing inches apart. “You will do it,” he insisted.
“I will think about it.” Kathryn tried to pull away.
Hugh dropped his hand, allowing her freedom, and when he spoke, his voice was softly persuading. “There's no time for thinking. I would take you to wife before Turlough steals you back to Dungannon.”
Kathryn hesitated. She hadn't thought of that possibility. What alternatives were left to her? “You would sign a legal agreement naming Shane's son your heir?” she asked.
“I've already said as much,” Hugh replied, knowing he'd won.
“In the presence of suitable witnesses?”
“Yes.” Hugh's gaze dropped to her breasts, and for a moment he thought of the long, long nights they'd share as man and wife.
“If I did agree,” Kathryn asked, recognizing that look, “what of the marriage itself?”
“I don't understand.”
Embarrassed, Kathryn turned away and considered her words, then ventured,
“I—I assume it will be a marriage in name only.”
“That assumption is incorrect, my lady. The marriage will be in fact.” When she refused to look at him, Hugh gently forced her to meet his gaze. His voice held a not of finality but was not unkind. “You will live with me, sleep with me, and bear my children. Our union will be consummated. You know it must be so.”
Unsettled by his words, his nearness, his masculine scent, Kathryn stammered, “C-c-consummated after my s-son is b-born.”
“Immediately following the vows.”
“I refuse to have my unborn child disturbed.”
Admiring her spunk, Hugh considered her words and wondered briefly how her eyes appeared when she was aroused. “A compromise is in order.” he conceded. “Our marriage will be consummated immediately, and then I will defer until you've recovered from birth. It's more than fair.”
“You will sign a legal agreement to that effect?”
“No, madam, I will not, “ Hugh roared, glaring into her green witch's eyes. “My personal life, or lack thereof, will not be common knowledge.” Sweet Jesu! She was a viper masquerading as an Englishwoman! How she survived his uncle's notorious temper would be a mystery until his final day.
“And what the bloody hell are you staring at?”
“Froth.”
“Froth?”
“Yes,” Kathryn answered, feigning innocence. “You see, the few maddened creatures I've seen froth about the mouth area, and I was looking for the—Oh, I'm sorry if I've insulted you.”
Unaccustomed to losing control of his temper, Hugh regained his composure slowly. He silently counted to ten, then added another twenty for good measure.
“If you throw yourself at my feet and beg for my attentions,” he promised, “you won't receive them until the babe is delivered. You have my word as a gentleman.” He looked her up and down, then added, “It won't be difficult.”
Kathryn smirked and walked away. She knew marrying meant subjecting herself to his whims and desires. If only she could go home . . . But Tyrone was her son's birthright, and she wanted her son to inherit. What to do? Better this O'Neill than Turlough or an unknown Englishman, she supposed.
Kathryn turned around, her sudden movement surprising Hugh who'd been admiring her backside. Her eyes narrowed at his perusal, but she said nothing.
She walked back to stand in front of him.
“Very well,” Kathryn agreed.
Hugh relaxed, then smiled. “Shall we seal the bargain with a kiss?”
Kathryn stiffened and stepped back a pace. “When the contract is signed,” came her icy reply.
Gazing into her upturned face, Hugh became lost. Her eyes were the green of Ireland, lush and inviting, warming his blood, enticing. He stepped forward a pace, his face coming closer and closer until his mouth covered hers—touching, tasting, probing her sweetness.
Unable to move, Kathryn felt herself falling under his spell, a warm feeling pervading her senses. Behind her head, Hugh's hand refused to let her go.
“Release me,” she breathed.
He would not.
It was then Hugh felt the cold caress of steel on his throat and broke the kiss abruptly. “How—?”
“I pinched it at the noon meal.” Clutching the knife, Kathryn stepped back a few paces, but her gaze was drawn back to his lips. What had possessed her?
Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Kathryn handed him the knife, then turned on her heels, and stalked out. She walked across the foyer and then raced up the stairs two at a time, chased by Hugh's shout of laughter.
Beautiful, brave, and intelligent, Hugh marveled, admiring Kathryn's spunk. An Englishwoman possessing all three admirable qualities was beyond his ken, yet here she was in his own home. And soon to become his wife!
Hugh knew one thing for certain. Life with this slip of a woman would never be boring.
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