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  cloak around the young woman. Then, as gently as if he were

  handling a newborn, he lifted her in his arms and pulled himself into

  the saddle before nudging his mount into a slow, easy walk.

  Even that gentle pace caused Emma pain, and she moaned softly.

  "Forgive me, Emma." Conor pressed his lips to her cheek as he

  cradled her against his chest. Every movement, he knew, was a

  source of agony for this sweet young woman.

  The queen rode beside him, leading Emma's mount.

  The ride, which only that morning had seemed so easy and carefree,

  now seemed the longest of their lives. For Emma, each jarring motion

  had her setting her teeth against the pain.

  For Elizabeth, the hardest part of the journey was watching this

  young woman's courage as she was forced to endure her suffering in

  silence.

  For Conor, the worst was not knowing what had actually happened.

  As he rode toward the palace, he pondered the painful end to this

  delightful morning. His thoughts were dark and ominous, weighing

  him down as he struggled to sort through the events that had led to

  this.

  Had Emma been struck by accident, the result of a careless hunter? Or

  had she taken an arrow that had been shot deliberately? If that were

  the case, was Emma the intended victim? Or had the arrow, in fact,

  been aimed at the queen?

  The closer he came to the palace, the darker Conor's thoughts

  became. Just what sort of sinister plot had they stumbled upon? And

  what part, if any, did he and Elizabeth and this young innocent play in

  it?

  "The young lady is in no danger." The queen's own physician had

  been summoned to Emma's room, where thearrow had been removed

  and her wound carefully bound. "She was indeed fortunate. The

  arrow managed to avoid shattering any bones. It pierced only the

  fleshy part of her arm. There will be some lingering pain, but the

  wound is clean, and the bleeding has been stopped."

  "Praise heaven. Do you hear that, Emma?" Elizabeth had insisted

  upon remaining, along with the other ladies- in-waiting who had

  gathered around the bedside, until the physician could render a

  verdict.

  The young woman nodded, trying to smile through the haze of

  confusion brought on by the opiates that had been administered. But

  the attempt only added to her discomfort.

  "Now." The queen headed toward the door, trailed by the other

  women. "I will speak with the captain of arms about this unfortunate

  accident." She turned to Conor who continued to stand beside

  Emma's bedside. "Will you join me?"

  "Nay, Majesty. With your permission I'll linger awhile and see to

  Emma's needs."

  "She has maids for that, Conor." Elizabeth saw the darkening of his

  eyes and sighed. "Very well. Stay, if you wish. But only for a short

  while." She turned to the young woman in the bed. "If you should

  desire anything at all, Emma, you need only ask."

  "I am most grateful, Majesty."

  When the room had emptied of all the clucking, chattering hens,

  Emma closed her eyes with a sigh. She heard the sound of a chair

  being dragged close to the bed, but it required too much effort to open

  her eyes. When she felt her hand engulfed in warmth and strength,

  she forced her lids open. Conor was seated beside her, his hand gently

  stroking hers. His eyes were so filled with concern, she felt her heart

  contract.

  "You look as wounded as I feel. Is there something the queen's

  physician hasn't told me?"

  "Nay, my lady. You'll mend quickly. But it pains me to see you like

  this."

  "It's my own fault, Conor. I took a foolish risk, attempting to win a

  silly race. And this is the price I must pay for my vanity."

  His voice roughened with emotion. "This has nothing to do with

  vanity. And it wasn't your fault, Emma. You were struck by an

  arrow."

  "Aye. Pity the poor hunter who will be severely punished for his

  error. And all because I gave him no warning that I was approaching

  at such breakneck speed."

  He shook his head in amazement. ' 'Even now you try to excuse

  another's error, and lay the blame on yourself." He lifted her hand to

  his lips. "Can I bring you anything to ease your pain?"

  "No...pain." Her words had begun to slur as the opiates dragged her

  further into a mist. Or was it the touch of his lips that brought this

  strange, floating sensation? Why was he here, when he ought to be

  attending to the queen? Still, the fact that he was beside her brought

  her a measure of comfort. Her lids opened slowly. "Will you...stay?"

  "For as long as you wish, Emma."

  "I wish... wish..." The words trailed off as she struggled with so many

  conflicting feelings. She wanted to stay just like this, with her hand

  held firmly in Conor O'Neil's. Wanted to know that when she awoke,

  he would still be here, watching out for her. For some unexplained

  reason, she felt as she once had in the arms of another. Warm and

  safe. She wished...wished... Such strange, unsettling wishes. Surely

  they were far beyond her reach.

  Her eyes closed. She drifted into sleep.

  Conor continued to hold her hand in his. Such a small hand. As

  smooth as an infant's. And yet, there was such strength in this tiny

  female.

  There was nowhere else he wanted to be at this moment, except right

  here beside her. Holding her hand. Watching her sleep. And hoping

  desperately that this was all some simple accident.

  Still, all his instincts led him to believe that this had been something

  far more sinister. He couldn't help but feel that he had somehow

  stumbled into some dark, evil plot. And this innocent female had

  become entangled in the web, as well.

  There was a tavern wench in the nearby village of Prestwyck who

  often overheard snatches of conversation that had proven valuable in

  the past. He thought perhaps he might pay her a quick visit while

  Emma slept.

  Chapter Six

  "Fool!" Celestine rounded on Dunstan as he entered the parlor.

  Henry, her brother, paced in front of the hearth, his eyes as hot with

  temper as those of his sister. "Whatever were you thinking?"

  "That I could do what you don't seem capable of doing. Eliminating

  the one who occupies the throne. And laying the blame on the Irish

  for good measure."

  "And instead you've put my little spy out of commission."

  ' 'Only temporarily. She merely sustained an arrow to the shoulder."

  "You could have killed her."

  "It would have been precious little loss. Your stepdaughter is nothing

  more than an ineffective, bumbling fool."

  Celestine's oath split the air. "Your assassin was no better."

  Dunstan's own temper flashed. "I hired no assassin. The arrow was

  my own."

  Celestine's jaw dropped. "You fired the arrow meant for the queen?"

  He nodded, and glanced toward Huntington, who had gone as still

  and pale as death. "I trust no one but myself to see to a deed as vital to

  our future as this."

  "Then you trusted a fool. All you
managed to do was arouse the

  queen's suspicion. From now on she'll probably insist upon being

  surrounded by a full complement of armed guards."

  Dunstan merely smiled. "I've just begun to ply my tricks. By the time

  I'm finished, Elizabeth won't trust anyone except me. Even her

  precious Conor O'Neil will be treated with disdain. And she'll be

  ready to send her own regiment to Ireland to seek vengeance." He

  cackled. "And I will be her most trusted companion. And the one who

  will finally see to her untimely death."

  "Well." Elizabeth slanted a look at Conor as he strolled casually

  across the great hall and made his way to her side. "Once again, my

  charming rogue, you have made your queen wait. Do you do this

  deliberately, to test my pa- tience?"

  "Forgive me, Majesty." Conor took the hand she offered and lifted it

  to his lips.

  When he offered no explanation for his tardiness, she patted the chair

  beside hers. "Sit. And tell me why you , have kept me waiting."

  "I have no good reason, madam. I was simply careless with my time."

  "Beware I do not find you careless with my affection as well, Conor

  O'Neil." She indicated Lord Dunstan, seated on her left. "Dunstan

  was just telling us about the latest attack by Heaven's Avenger. It

  seems he came to the defense of a wench in a nearby village.

  Prestwyck, I believe?" She turned to Dunstan, who nodded his assent.

  "The wench was being abused by several drunken soldiers."

  "Another mysterious warrior?" Conor accepted a goblet of ale from

  one of the servants.

  "Aye. As he has in the past, he spoke not a word, but left all the

  soldiers dead. Their throats slit. When the wench burst into tears, this

  avenger dried them with his cloak, then handed her a gold coin and

  departed as quickly as he had appeared."

  "How romantic," one of the ladies-in-waiting said with a sigh, while

  the others nodded.

  "Some peasant, out to make a name for himself," Dunstan scoffed. '

  'Majesty, do not forget the ill treatment our soldiers received at the

  hands of O'Neil's countrymen."

  "My countrymen?" Conor arched a brow.

  "Aye." Dunstan's voice rose with righteous anger. "Three of them

  killed. Six more wounded by swordsmen who attacked them while

  they slept."

  Conor could feel all his muscles contract as he kept his gaze fastened

  on the goblet of ale in his hand. "Where did this occur?"

  "In a forest just across the Boyne River. A place your people call

  Drogheda, I believe."

  Conor was careful to keep all trace of emotion from his tone as he

  glanced around the table. "I know the place. Serene countryside. A

  swift current runs through the Boyne as it curves through County

  Louth."

  "Then the scenery is deceptive." Dunstan's voice grew louder. "For

  your countrymen can surely not lay claim to serenity. In truth, they

  are all troublemakers." He turned to the queen. "I fear, Majesty, that

  unless you soon give them a taste of English justice, these peasants

  will band together. If that should occur, the rebellion could get out of

  control. And England will find itself at war."

  Elizabeth remained silent, lost in thought.

  Taking advantage of her mood, Dunstan's shrill voice carried the

  length of the room, causing heads to turn.

  "Your Majesty has seen with her own eyes how persuasive the Irish

  peasants can be. There is one of them seated at your right hand at this

  very table."

  Feeling the stares of the curious, Conor decided to deflect Dunstan's

  anger with humor. "Aye. And if this Irish peasant may speak for his

  countrymen, may I say that it is an honor to be allowed to sup in such

  august company. Most often we are found supping with the sheep and

  the swine."

  That brought a roar of laughter around the table.

  Elizabeth signalled for the meal to begin. As the servants circled the

  table, Conor asked, "What did your sergeant at arms have to say about

  Emma's unfortunate accident, Majesty?"

  "He assured me that if there is even one hunter hidden in the forest,

  my soldiers will find him. Thankfully, Dunstan accompanied me to

  the stables and suggested that they scour the woods on foot and

  horseback in search of the fool who dared encroach on my security."

  It occurred to Conor that such an army of men and horses would also

  serve to obliterate any tracks left behind by the attacker. "That is

  indeed comforting, Majesty."

  "Aye." Dunstan leaned close to inject himself into the conversation.

  "And if the poacher should turn out to be one of your Irish peasants,

  O'Neil, he will surely feel the sting of English anger. For we do not

  take lightly our queen's safety. Especially here on her own soil."

  Seeing that the queen had sunk into thoughtful silence, her

  ladies-in-waiting turned the table talk to gossip about several titled

  gentlemen and their mistresses, in order to amuse her.

  "Did you hear that the Earl of Grey ton actually commissioned the

  same diamond-and-ruby pendant for his mistress that he'd bought

  earlier for his wife." Amena glanced toward several of the other

  ladies-in-waiting, who nodded and giggled.

  "Aye." Dunstan caught the eye of a serving wench and lifted his

  goblet for more wine. "When his mistress admired it, he had no

  choice but to buy it for her."

  Amena's laughter bubbled. "He added ear bobs as well. And when his

  wife found out, she removed her pendant and tossed it out of the

  carriage into the roadside. The earl sent his servants to comb the area

  in hopes of retrieving it. Alas, so far nary a glimmer of rubies or

  diamonds has been spotted."

  "Serves him right." Dunstan drank deeply, enjoying himself. "Jewels

  are wasted on wives. They ought to be showered upon mistresses.

  And then only when they have proven themselves to be...deserving of

  such treasures."

  "You are a wicked soul." Despite her earlier melancholy, Elizabeth

  laughed. "Now I know why you aren't wed, Dunstan."

  "Not wicked, Majesty." He bowed grandly. "Merely honest. I think

  we are of like minds where marriage is concerned."

  "Ah. If I were a man..." She sighed, then turned to Conor, who had

  remained silent throughout the exchange. "I'd be a rogue like this

  one." She patted his hand before scraping back her chair. At once,

  everyone got to their feet. "Come. We will take our sweets and spirits

  by the fire."

  Elizabeth led the way, with the others following.

  While a servant moved among them, offering pastries and goblets of

  ale, the talk turned to the aging Lord Humphrey, who was absent.

  "It's been long known that one of his earlier mistresses gave him an

  illness." Dunstan stretched his legs toward the fire. "Now it's

  beginning to affect his mind."

  Seeing the look of surprise on the queen's face, he couldn't help

  boasting. "You didn't know, Majesty?"

  "Nay." She glanced at Amena, who had fallen silent. "His servant told

  me that he suffered from gout."Dunstan roared with laughter, and the

  others soon joined in.
"That may be. But the old man's mind is fading.

  If you desire his advice, you had best seek it quickly, for he will soon

  be leaving this world."

  Conor felt a flash of annoyance. "A pity Lord Humphrey can't be here

  to defend his good name."

  "Perhaps you'd care to become his defender, O'Neil?" Dunstan

  glanced from the queen to the others. "It isn't bad enough the old fool

  is dying of the dreaded French disease. Now he is to be protected by

  an Irish peasant whose only strength seems to be his ability to lift a

  goblet of ale to his lips."

  Conor's hand went to the sword at his side. His blood was still hot

  from the scene he'd stumbled upon in Prestwyck. A few minutes more

  and the poor wench would have been brutalized. Still, no matter how

  many times he managed to come to the aid of one such innocent, there

  were hundreds of others who had no one to champion their cause.

  Dunstan saw the flash of anger in Conor's eyes. "Careful, O'Neil.

  Everyone at court is aware that you wear that sword for mere

  adornment."

  Conor struggled to keep his anger carefully in check. Now was not

  the time. But there would come a day when he would exact revenge.

  Not just for himself, but for all his countrymen as well.

  Dunstan was still laughing when he turned to see the queen'-s

  sergeant at arms standing in the doorway. A cluster of soldiers

  entered, hauling with them two men in tattered hooded cloaks.

  Everyone in the room fell silent.

  "Forgive me, Majesty," called her sergeant at arms. "But you asked to

  be notified immediately should we find the hunter who fired the

  arrow."

  "It was one of these?" Elizabeth strode forward.

  "Aye, Majesty."

  At the sight of the queen the men fell to their knees sobbing.

  "Were you not warned that hunting in that forest was forbidden?"

  Unable to find their voices, the men shook their heads and continued

  to sob.

  Elizabeth's voice grew haughty. "It will go much harder on you if you

  do not tell the truth. Look at your queen and speak. What were you

  doing in the forest?"