Conor. Ruth Langan

      “Nay, madam.” He forced himself to smile. “I foresee only blue skies and gentle weather during Your Majesty’s reign.”

      She returned his smile. “I do believe, Conor O’Neil, that your presence here is a very good omen.”

      “I hope you will always think that, Majesty.” He tried to keep his smile in place as he danced her around the room.

      When they drew near Dunstan and Emma, Conor maneuvered the queen close enough that she brushed Dunstan’s arm.

      Dunstan looked up sharply. Then, spying the queen, he took the bait, as Conor had known he would. For Dunstan, it seemed the perfect opportunity to press for a dance with the most powerful woman in the kingdom, and to rid himself of his awkward companion.

      Dunstan bowed smartly. “Would you care to change partners, Majesty?”

      Elizabeth, glowing, gave him the benediction of her smile. “With pleasure, Lord Dunstan.”

      The two whirled away, leaving Conor and Emma facing each other. Conor paused for just a beat, so that the others in the room who might be watching would think he’d been caught by surprise. It was a seemingly insignificant victory, but a very sweet one.

      He offered his hand. “Will you dance, my lady?”

      “I... Yes.” Emma placed her hand in his.

      Conor felt a jolt as their bodies came together. Though she appeared even more slender in that ill-fitting gown, the curves brushing against him were those of a woman. A woman who, for some unknown reason, had his blood running hot.

      For the space of a heartbeat he forgot to move. How odd that this shy, simple young woman should be the source of such unexpected feelings.

      Knowing they were being observed, he forced himself into action. He led her in a slow, rhythmic circle. When the step was completed she turned to face him, and he absorbed another jolt as his lips hovered just above hers.

      “Are you enjoying yourself, Emma?”

      “Aye.” She lifted her head a fraction, causing her lips to brush his throat. It was the merest touch of her mouth, and both of them pulled away instantly. But the damage had already been done. Her face flamed. His eyes narrowed slightly.

      “In truth...” She swallowed, tried again. This flirting business was something so alien to her, it caused her great distress. “In truth, I feel quite out of my element. Everyone and everything seems so new and frightening.”

      Again that voice, low, breathless, as though she had been running across a meadow. It touched some long forgotten chord in him. He had an unreasonable desire to press his mouth to a tangle of hair at her temple and soothe all her fears.

      “Soon enough you will know everyone here, and it will all feel quite normal.” Without realizing it he drew her fractionally closer. His hand at her waist opened, his fingers splaying across her lower back, and he marveled at how tiny, how delicate she was.

      “And you, Conor O’Neil?” She lifted her head again, this time taking care to avoid brushing him with her lips, though she found the thought tempting. “Do you like it here at court?”

      “Aye.” He felt the whisper of her breath against his cheek and was suddenly too warm. “I would have to be a fool not to enjoy the luxury of such a life.” Aye. A fool, he thought, as he slowly moved with her around the dance floor. A fool who could find all his carefully laid plans crumbling around his feet if he weren’t careful.

      She sighed. “Your words bring me comfort.”

      “Truly? How so?”

      She gave him a tremulous smile. “If you can feel at home here, then perhaps, in time, I may do the same. I had feared, because of my father’s name, that I would never feel truly at home anywhere but in Ireland.”

      He felt a quickening of his pulse at the mention of that dear land. “So, though your home is here in England, you still consider yourself Irish?”

      She seemed shocked by his question. “Indeed. Don’t you, Conor O’Neil?”

      “Aye.” He chuckled. “But I thought it might be different for you. Your father has taken an English wife, and has settled here.”

      At that, her nostrils flared. Her voice fairly trembled with passion. “Ireland is still my father’s home. And mine, as well. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. Least of all my father’s new wife.”

      Conor looked up and realized that the music had ended. The dancers were laughing and chatting as servants moved among them offering goblets of ale and wine. The queen, with Lord Dunstan beside her, was even now bearing down on them.

      “Here you are, Conor. I’d feared you had retired to the parlor, to join the gentlemen in a game of cards.”

      “And miss the chance to dance with you once more, Majesty?” He bowed grandly before Emma and lifted her hand to his lips. “I thank you for allowing me to be your partner, my lady.”

      She blushed, dimpled. “You are most welcome.”

      In a proprietary manner Dunstan took Emma’s hand and turned away. She had an almost overpowering impulse to shrink from his touch. But, knowing there were others watching, Emma merely walked along beside him.

      Conor led the queen to the dance floor, where they were soon laughing and chatting as they moved through the steps of another dance. And all the while, Conor was aware only of the shy young woman who was once again moving awkwardly in Dunstan’s arms.

      What was the matter with him? he wondered. Why was he allowing this newcomer to cause him to veer from his charted course? But as the night wore on, he found himself more and more distracted by the sight of Emma Vaughn in the arms of the lecher, Dunstan.

      “Another dance, Majesty?” Conor plucked two goblets from the tray of a passing servant and offered one to the queen.

      “No more, Conor.” She took a single sip, then set the goblet aside. “If I do not soon retire to my bed you will have to carry me.”

      He shot her a dangerous smile. “A most pleasant chore, madam. I would be only too happy to oblige.”

      Elizabeth blushed like a girl. “You always know just the right thing to say, don’t you?”

      “It is why you keep me around.”

      “Aye. You amuse me, Conor O’Neil. And you also please me. Unlike so many of my advisors, you are honest. At times, a bit too honest.”

      He winced. If she but knew. “Can a man ever be too honest, Majesty?”

      She studied him in silence. Then, turning to scan the others in the room she gave a shrewd smile. “Look at them, Conor. They all wish I would retire for the night.”

      He gave a glance around, then turned back to her. “They seem to be having such a grand time. Why would they wish that?”

      “Because their blood grows hot, confined to this room where they must satisfy themselves with occasional touches while they dance. You see Lord Humphrey? As soon as they return to their suite of rooms in the castle, his elderly wife will go to her bed. But he will spend the night in the bed of my lady-in-waiting, Amena.” Seeing Conor’s look of surprise, she said, “Over there, the Earl of Danville is dancing with his wife, while his mistress, Brenna Lampley, watches from the balcony. And across the room, my advisor, Charles Malcolm, is fetching a pastry for his wife. But watch as he pauses to speak with the lovely Margaret Childon. Even now they are plotting their little tryst. But that cannot be accomplished until their queen takes her leave. Then they will suddenly disappear, to meet at some prearranged room where they can satisfy more...carnal hungers.”

      Conor turned to study the queen. “And how do you know all this?”

      “There are no secrets at court. Remember that, my rogue.” She gave a girlish laugh. “My spies are everywhere.”