Claiming Her

He gathered her closer. “I must do this thing.”

She closed her eyes. “I know.”

He examined her face a moment then said, with ruthless aim, “And what would you have me do, Katy, in such a situation, if our roles were reversed?”

Her lids lifted and her dark eyes locked on his. “What can I do to help?” she said firmly.

He smiled, just a little, for smiling hurt, and their kiss was the gentlest brush of lips, barely breath.

Then Aodh brushed his knuckles down the side of her face. “I do love you,” he said, then took her by the hand and turned to the others at the front of the cave.

“I’m for the queen,” he announced, a bit triumphantly. Cormac turned and the others got to their feet.

“You mean we are for the queen,” she corrected gently.

He stopped short. “We’re not starting this again, now, are we?”

Chapter Forty-Six

AODH CREPT up the secret back staircase at Windsor, an entryway known only to a select few, which he’d gained entry to by contacting the stable master’s assistant, who used to be a bit of a gambling partner, and who was engaged, quite amorously and secretively, with the laundress, who snuck him in and up the stairs.

Voices from the downstairs rooms rose up a twist of stairs and coursed down the long corridor that led to the queen’s chambers. The throng below was, as usual, celebrating their wealth, or fighting not to lose it, and were determinedly riotous in the effort. The queen would be among them. He would wait, hiding in the shadows.

The only threat lay in being seen by one of her ladies- or maids-in-waiting. This was a distinct possibility, but a negligible threat. Aodh had known the queen’s entourage well, and been well liked, for he brought gifts and knew how to compliment without flattering, how to arouse without touching, or at least not much, and they would say nothing if they saw him. Or at least, nothing that would get his head cut off.

The queen, on the other hand, would be very much inclined to cut his head off.

Perils of the adventurer.

He ran into one of the younger maids the moment he stepped out of the back passageway. Sitting outside the queen’s chambers, head bent over embroidery, she gave a start when he appeared, then got to her feet in shock.

“’Tis I, Liz,” he said softly.

She gave a little gasp, and her eyes flew wide.

“Not a word, now.”

She shook her head. “Oh, sir,” she whispered, staring at his face. “What happened? We heard you were taken, then escaped. And now here you are.”

“Here I am,” he agreed cheerfully.

She smiled, but it was troubled. She glanced over her shoulder. “They are at feast. You should leave.”

“I mean the queen no harm.”

“I know,” she assured him swiftly. “You have ever been the queen’s good friend, and I do not believe a word they have said about you.”

He wasn’t sure if this meant she didn’t believe the part about him having taken over a castle, but decided this wasn’t the time to inquire.

“But if they find you here, Sir Irish,” the little maid went on, using their name for him, “you will be the one harmed.”

“I need to see her.”

His calm earnestness seemed to do the trick. Her brow furrowed, her eyes darted to and fro, then, with a swift glance, she nodded and glided to the door. “Come.”

She let him into the queen’s antechamber and swiftly shut the door. He made his way across the room, a room he’d been in hundreds of times, for quiet games of chess and cards, and turned the handle to the inner chamber, intending to wait.

But there would be no waiting. The queen was already inside.