later, when she was calm, she would become reasonable, finally recognizing that she had no choice but to remain with him.
Yet a deep sense of guilt he had never felt before nagged at him. For keeping her against her will. No woman had ever resisted him before. He glanced at Katherine as they galloped across the London Bridge, past wagons and carts, drays and mules. He had never tried to seduce a virgin before.
He thought of Hugh Barry. Her betrothed, who yet lived. Savage emotion rose up in Liam, hot and hard. He most certainly was not freeing her so she could return to him.
He had wanted her from the moment he had first seen her—and never had he been so patient in his life. Hewould take her sooner or later—no matter that Hugh Barry lived. He was her protector now. He alone.
She turned her gaze to his and lifted her chin. Her glare was defiant. A challenge was definitely there. She intended to fight him until the end. Liam’s admiration for her grew.
But her challenge was dangerous. She was dangerous. He must somehow pick up the gauntlet she threw at him, yet he could not beat her down as he would a real enemy. He must tame her, seduce her, win her.
For he was not like his father, as Gerald FitzGerald had seen. Shane O’Neill would have already used the girl, mercilessly, and by now would have tired of her and tossed her to his men. Liam knew damn well that he was not like his father at all, despite the fact that the comparison was ofttimes made. Still, damnably, he felt qualms. And Shane O’Neill had never felt a single qualm in his life.
But there was no place for a conscience in his life. Men who survived by wit and will, by sword and cannon, did so because of an utter lack of conscience. His was a life of constant warfare. Victory meant survival. And to the victors went the spoils—and Katherine FitzGerald was another prize in a long line of prizes he had won. But not just any prize—oh no.
Gerald FitzGerald’s offer to give Katherine to him in marriage came back to him, as cruelly teasing as those highborn British youths had been when he was a boy at court. Good God. He did not need a wife. He did not need sons. In fact, he was determined to remain childless. And the mockery of his life would end with him. He would not bequeath it—or any anguish—to a son.
Besides, too well, he recalled her horror when Gerald had offered her to him as his bride.
Still, even though he did not need a wife, even though he refused to have children, Liam found the thought of taking Katherine FitzGerald as his bride vastly tempting. It was unthinkable that a man like him might wed with such a woman.
Liam comforted himself with cynicism. How eagerly impotence sought an alliance with power, he thought. FitzGerald, once a great earl, was now eager to give his daughter in wedlock to Shane O’Neill’s son.
Liam wondered what Gerald hoped to gain by making him his son-in-law. Did Gerald hope to use him to escape Southwark as he had tried to use that other sea captain who had turned Judas on him two years ago? Liam doubted it. Only a fool made the same mistake twice. In all likelihood, Gerald sought far more than escape from his prison.
Did he think to harness Liam’s control of the seas he sailed? To undo his cousin, FitzMaurice? Liam could easily prey upon those Spanish and French ships who brought the rebel Irish leader his victuals and supplies. But that alone could not help FitzGerald, who was a prisoner in exile, who had lost Desmond forever. That would but weaken FitzMaurice, making him ripe for capture by the queen’s men.
What did Gerald hope to gain from an alliance with the man the world had labeled the Master of the Seas?
A possibility began to tease Liam. He straightened in his saddle, shot Katherine another, but sharper, look. There was no rush, he reminded himself. Katherine was his, and should he dare to think the unthinkable, to do the undoable, a mistress could become a wife easily enough.
Despite his
Yet a deep sense of guilt he had never felt before nagged at him. For keeping her against her will. No woman had ever resisted him before. He glanced at Katherine as they galloped across the London Bridge, past wagons and carts, drays and mules. He had never tried to seduce a virgin before.
He thought of Hugh Barry. Her betrothed, who yet lived. Savage emotion rose up in Liam, hot and hard. He most certainly was not freeing her so she could return to him.
He had wanted her from the moment he had first seen her—and never had he been so patient in his life. Hewould take her sooner or later—no matter that Hugh Barry lived. He was her protector now. He alone.
She turned her gaze to his and lifted her chin. Her glare was defiant. A challenge was definitely there. She intended to fight him until the end. Liam’s admiration for her grew.
But her challenge was dangerous. She was dangerous. He must somehow pick up the gauntlet she threw at him, yet he could not beat her down as he would a real enemy. He must tame her, seduce her, win her.
For he was not like his father, as Gerald FitzGerald had seen. Shane O’Neill would have already used the girl, mercilessly, and by now would have tired of her and tossed her to his men. Liam knew damn well that he was not like his father at all, despite the fact that the comparison was ofttimes made. Still, damnably, he felt qualms. And Shane O’Neill had never felt a single qualm in his life.
But there was no place for a conscience in his life. Men who survived by wit and will, by sword and cannon, did so because of an utter lack of conscience. His was a life of constant warfare. Victory meant survival. And to the victors went the spoils—and Katherine FitzGerald was another prize in a long line of prizes he had won. But not just any prize—oh no.
Gerald FitzGerald’s offer to give Katherine to him in marriage came back to him, as cruelly teasing as those highborn British youths had been when he was a boy at court. Good God. He did not need a wife. He did not need sons. In fact, he was determined to remain childless. And the mockery of his life would end with him. He would not bequeath it—or any anguish—to a son.
Besides, too well, he recalled her horror when Gerald had offered her to him as his bride.
Still, even though he did not need a wife, even though he refused to have children, Liam found the thought of taking Katherine FitzGerald as his bride vastly tempting. It was unthinkable that a man like him might wed with such a woman.
Liam comforted himself with cynicism. How eagerly impotence sought an alliance with power, he thought. FitzGerald, once a great earl, was now eager to give his daughter in wedlock to Shane O’Neill’s son.
Liam wondered what Gerald hoped to gain by making him his son-in-law. Did Gerald hope to use him to escape Southwark as he had tried to use that other sea captain who had turned Judas on him two years ago? Liam doubted it. Only a fool made the same mistake twice. In all likelihood, Gerald sought far more than escape from his prison.
Did he think to harness Liam’s control of the seas he sailed? To undo his cousin, FitzMaurice? Liam could easily prey upon those Spanish and French ships who brought the rebel Irish leader his victuals and supplies. But that alone could not help FitzGerald, who was a prisoner in exile, who had lost Desmond forever. That would but weaken FitzMaurice, making him ripe for capture by the queen’s men.
What did Gerald hope to gain from an alliance with the man the world had labeled the Master of the Seas?
A possibility began to tease Liam. He straightened in his saddle, shot Katherine another, but sharper, look. There was no rush, he reminded himself. Katherine was his, and should he dare to think the unthinkable, to do the undoable, a mistress could become a wife easily enough.
Despite his
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