Conor. Ruth Langan
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not heard much about the beauty of Ireland from Lord Dunstan,” Elizabeth said dryly. “Most of what he has relayed is about the savagery of its people. Especially this Heaven’s Avenger who seems to have spawned a twin on our shores.” The queen glanced upward, watching the path of a falcon as it glided across the sky. “Come. I wish to fly again.” She wheeled her mount and took off at a brisk pace, leaving Emma and Conor to follow.
As they started off Conor held his horse to a more gentle trot.
Emma, keeping pace beside him, turned to him with a worried frown. “Do you think I offended the queen by mentioning my home?”
Hearing the concern in her voice he shook his head. “I’ve learned that this queen is accustomed to saying exactly what’s on her mind. If she had been offended by your words, she would have told you. At the moment, the only thing that concerns Elizabeth is the feel of sunshine warm on her face, and a strong, solid horse beneath her.” He reached over and placed his hand on Emma’s. At once he felt the jolt and was startled by it. Why did the touch of this simple young woman arouse him so? “Let’s do the same, Emma. We’ll put away our worries, and enjoy the day.”
Her smile faltered. Just the feel of his hand on hers brought a strange ripple of pleasure. What sort of power did this man have? Whatever it was, she wanted none of it. She had to remember that all she wanted from him was his secrets.
With an impish grin, Emma nudged her horse into a gallop, determined to escape his charm. Over her shoulder she called, “I do believe my mare can outrun your mount, my lord.”
For a moment he was so surprised, he could only stare after her. Then, he threw back his head and roared with pleasure as he spurred his horse into a gallop. Halfway across the meadow Emma’s horse passed the queen’s. A few moments later Conor’s mount did the same. By the time he reached the far side of the meadow, Emma was standing beside her horse, watching his arrival.
“I knew I could beat you.” Her voice, still breathless, rang with pride.
“That was fine horsemanship, my lady.” Conor remained in the saddle, enjoying the color that suffused her cheeks.
The queen rode up, clearly pouting at having been left out. “Had I known this was to be a race, I would have won it easily. I demand another. And this time I must be included.”
Conor nodded. “Fair enough, Majesty. But a race is not a race unless there is a prize to be won. What will we race for?”
“Gold always works,” the queen said regally.
“Alas, I have none.” Emma’s cheeks reddened.
“I see.” Elizabeth pondered for a moment, then said, “I have it. The winner shall choose an article of clothing from each of the losers.”
“An article of clothing?” Emma looked perplexed.
“Aye. For instance, if I should win,” Elizabeth said with a glint of teasing laughter in her eyes, “I should require of you that delightful riding hat, for it is far more fashionable than mine. And no one should look more fetching than the queen.”
Emma blushed. “The hat isn’t mine, Majesty. It belongs to Amena.”
“I thought I recognized it.” The queen’s laughter grew. “All the more reason why I desire it. Amena owes me a gold sovereign from an earlier wager.” She turned to Conor. “And from you, my dashing companion, I would require those riding gloves.”
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