All the Sweet Tomorrows

Chapter 17

“You play a dangerous game, madam," William Cecil warned.

"Nay, Cecil," Elizabeth Tudor replied, "'tis no game I play at all."

"You might simply have forgiven Lord and Lady de Marisco their marriage, and then asked for their help. Stealing their child is only bound to bring out the tigress in Lady de Marisco, and you do remember the last time you incurred that lady's ire, madam, don't you?"

"It was never proven to our satisfaction that Skye O'Malley was behind those piracies, Cecil!"

"Hah!" the Queen's advisor snorted, and then clamping his lips shut he said nothing more. There was no arguing with Elizabeth Tudor once she had her mind made up, and in this instance he wasn't sure she was not right. It was really very unlikely that Skye O'Malley would willingly help the English Crown against her own marauding family. They would need a strong hold over her, and what was stronger than the bond of mother love?

“The child is all right, Cecil. She is at Hampton Court with her nursemaid, and a proper little tartar she is, I am told." The Queen chuckled. "I saw her the night that she was brought from France. She is de Marisco's image, and I doubt not he loves her dearly. 'Tis another good card I have to play, Cecil! The child is doted upon by both her parents."

Cecil shook his head. “The Seagull was sighted off Margate Head this afternoon. I've dispatched some of your Gentlemen Pensioners to escort them here to Greenwich."

"You are too diligent, my old friend," the Queen chided him. "There is no need to bring them to me, for they will come of their own free will. We will say my gentlemen are a guard of honor." She laughed drily. "Skye O'Malley will appreciate that, Cecil! She has wit, that damned woman! She has great wit!"

While the Queen enjoyed her little joke Sir Christopher Hatton, captain of the Gentlemen Pensioners, found himself on shipboard facing a woman he knew by reputation alone. It was a confusing reputation, for Elizabeth Tudor admired this woman and spoke of her with great respect while at the same time Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, claimed that the lady in question was a passionate drab who could not get enough of his loving. Hatton was inclined to dismiss Leicester's boasting, for the Queen would hardly like any female or accept her at court if she was openly out to snare the earl.

"My lord?" Skye looked questioningly at Hatton.

"I am Sir Christopher Hatton, madam, the Queen's captain. I am here to escort you to Greenwich."

"And by what means, Sir Christopher, are you to escort me? I see no coach, nor do I see horses. Am I to walk, perhaps, behind your horse like a Roman captive?"

Hatton shifted uncomfortably, realizing he had forgotten to provide transport.

Skye laughed easily. "Do not fret, Sir Christopher. I have full intention of hieing myself to Greenwich as quickly as possible, but I have only just arrived after a hectic voyage. I am going to my house on the Strand to bathe and change my clothes before I see Her Majesty. I will not present myself before the Queen until then, unless, of course, you have orders to drag me before Her Majesty immediately."

He had no such orders, and Hatton was totally nonplussed by this beautiful woman who seemed so in command of the situation. "Of course, Lady Burke…"

"Lady de Marisco, my lord."

"I was given to understand that you were the widow of Lord Niall Burke, madam." Sir Christopher was further confused.

"Indeed, sir, and I am, but Lord Burke died some time back, and I remarried. Lord de Marisco is my husband, and has been for two and a half years now." Skye smiled sweetly. "Would you care to come with us to Greenwood, my lord? If the Queen has ordered you to bring us to her you had best not appear back before her without us. I will be happy to send a message to your men on shore."

The door to the main cabin opened, and Adam came in. The barge is here, sweetheart."

"Well, Sir Christopher? Are you coming with us?"

"I can as easily ride, madame, if you will but tell me where Greenwood is located."

"It is on the river, next to the Earl of Lynmouth's house."

"I will meet you there," Sir Christopher said, and then he beat a hasty retreat.

Adam waited until he was sure the captain had gotten off the ship, and then he chuckled. "You've frightened him to death, Skye. Not an easy task under normal circumstances, I would imagine."

"I see that though the Queen still enjoys the virgin state her taste in handsome young men has not changed," Skye muttered.

The rumor is that he dances divinely," Adam guffawed.

"Perhaps," Skye said, "but there is a good mind, I’ll wager, behind those beautiful eyes of his. Bess Tudor does not suffer fools within her inner circle." With an impatient gesture she picked up her cloak. "Let us go, Adam. Even though I know that our Velvet is safe, I want to know what this is all about. Where are the children?"

"Gone on ahead in the first barge," he answered her, slipping the cape over her shoulders. Bending, he held her a moment against him, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll soon have our little one back."

The Greenwood barge took them swiftly up the river to Skye's London town house. Mignon had been left behind in France with Guillaume, for they were too old to travel to England, and belonged at Archambault, where both had been born and spent their whole lives. I shall have to train a new tiring woman, Skye thought irritably as they arrived at the landing, but who was that coming down the lawn wildly waving?

"M'lady! M'lady! Oh, dear Mistress Skye, welcome home!"

Skye stopped, and her eyes teared briefly as Daisy came running up to her. For a moment the two women stared at each other, and then they were hugging frantically. "What on earth are you doing here, Daisy?" she exclaimed.

They broke apart, and Daisy explained, "When Dame Cecily told me that you were coming home I knew you would need me, m'lady. Old Mistress Kelly, Bran's mum, came to live with us over a year ago when her man died and the English landlord took her cottage. My babes have given her a new lease on life. 'Twas she who insisted I come up to London. The youngest baby's weaned, and don't need me anymore. Come along now, for you've been at sea several days and I know you'll want your bath." She turned her gap-toothed smile on Adam. "I've brought with me that pirate, Kipp, who always served you on Lundy, m'lord. They took everyone off the island, y'know."

"Good Lord," Adam exclaimed, "I didn't think they'd touch my people. What happened to them, Daisy?"

"The bailiff at Lynmouth made room, m'lord."

They had gained the house now, and as they climbed the stairs Skye said, “I’ll have to hurry a bit, Daisy, for the Queen is expecting me even now."

"Ah," Daisy smiled, "I knew you'd be back in her favor quick enough."

Entering her apartments, Skye said grimly, "I’m not in the Queen's good graces at all, Daisy, and I’d not be in England except that she stole our daughter. Oh, Daisy, wait until you see Velvet de Marisco! She is the most perfect little girl!"

"But why would she steal your child, m'lady?" Daisy began to undress her mistress.

"She seems to want my help in some matter, Daisy, and felt I would not give it to her unless she had some sort of strong hold over me. She will not recognize my marriage to Lord de Marisco because we did not ask her permission, but it has mattered not to us. We have a beautiful home, Belle Fleur, in France. I did not think the Queen could touch us."

Daisy frowned. "I wonder," she mused aloud.

"What do you wonder?" Skye replied, climbing into the perfumed tub and settling down into the water.

"I’m wondering if it's about your brothers."

"Tell me what you know, Daisy."

“They're wild, m'lady, every one of them. I've heard Bran say it a dozen times a day. When you ran your family the O'Malleys prospered, and kept the peace; but your brothers have almost run through everything you built up for them, and they harry the English each chance they get. They deliberately bait them, m'lady, and taunt them something fierce, and you know the difficulties in Ireland are bad enough without that. Their mother, the lady Anne, has tried to control them, but she hasn't the strength. They laugh at her advice, and then gift her with things they've stolen from their raids and tell her not to worry, but she does fret and she'll not keep a thing they give her. Still, there is naught that she can do about them. They are too strong for her."

Skye nodded with understanding. Her brothers were proud and stubborn Irishmen with hot heads and no sense. She had left their raising to their mother, for it was indeed Anne's responsibility after Dubhdara O'Malley died, but Anne O'Malley was a gentle woman with a kind heart who had no real strength of her own.

"What have the O'Malleys been doing to irritate the Queen, Daisy? It can't simply be that my fool half-brothers have reverted to the piracies of my father."

"Bran says they've joined with your kinswoman, Grace O'Malley, to fight the English," came the reply.

"Fools!" Skye muttered.

"She's a fascinating woman, Bran says."

"She is indeed," Skye said. "She's from the nobler and more powerful branch of my family, the O'Malleys of Clare Island. She's even married to a Burke, as I was. Her husband is a distant cousin of Niall's. She's a dangerous woman, though, Daisy. She believes herself a patriot. She's fought the English since her youth, and I’ve no doubt she'll fight them right to the moment of her death. In one sense I admire her courage and her determination; but I have a cooler head than Grace, and she cannot win over England no matter the right of her cause. She does not see this, however, and if she were only responsible for her own life I should not argue how she live it; but she drags others into her schemes. If Elizabeth Tudor wants my aid in preventing my brothers from joining with Grace O'Malley then she shall have it, Daisy. I will not allow them to destroy everything I have worked and sacrificed for since our father, may God assoil him, left the responsibility of the O'Malleys of Innisfana to me!"

Daisy said nothing, but she saw the gleam of battle in her mistress's eyes. With a hidden smile she washed Skye's hair, thinking that it was good to be back here with her lady. She loved her bairns, but wiping their runny noses and wet bottoms was dull stuff compared to serving Skye O'Malley.

There was a knock at the door, and a housemaid appeared to say, "Sir Christopher Hatton awaits you, m'lady."

“Tell Sir Christopher that I am in my bath," Skye said mischievously, "and that I shall attend him eventually. Then see that he and his men have plenty of wine, beef, and bread."

"Yes, m'lady!" The housemaid bobbed a curtsey, and was gone.

"It will be at least two hours before you're ready," Daisy said.

"I make it closer to three," Skye said calmly, and the tiring woman giggled.

"You'll want to eat while your hair is drying."

"Aye, but sparingly. Enough to take the edge off my appetite so that my stomach doesn't grumble while I'm with the Queen, but not enough to spoil my appetite should we be asked to stay for the evening meal."

"Bread, cheese, and some good Devon cider, m'lady?"

"Aye, and a bit of ham too, Daisy. Bring enough for two, for my lord will be hungry also."

Daisy helped Skye from the tub, and carefully and thoroughly dried her mistress off before wrapping her in a long quilted velvet gown to ward off the chill of the autumn afternoon. Next she toweled all the water from Skye's hair, and settled her mistress by the fireplace to brush her own locks dry while she hurried downstairs to the kitchens to fetch the food. When Adam came through the connecting door between their rooms, Skye never even looked up as she continued brushing her hair by the fire.

"You're glad to be back in England, aren't you," she said, hearing his soft, happy humming.

"Aye, sweetheart," he admitted, coming to sit across from her. He loved watching her do simple feminine things.

"I’ve sent Daisy for food. Hatton and his men already wait below, but I’ll not come down until I'm clean and fed. If I have to deal with the Queen I'd best do it from a position of strength. Daisy thinks it's my brothers. The four of them have managed to run through the wealth I spent years building up for the O'Malleys, and now they've joined forces with my hotheaded kinswoman, Grace O'Malley, to harry the English."

“They've not their older sister's wisdom," he said quietly.

"Ah, Adam," she answered, "I would have the English out of Ireland too, but I know that it will take more than the O'Malleys to do it. That is the problem with the Irish. They cannot unite, and as long as they can't, the English will hold Ireland whether the Irish desire it or not. It is our weakness, my love, for Ireland is a land where every man is a king. I am not the stuff of which martyrs or heroines are made, and I'll not sacrifice everything I've fought for and built up for that elusive will-o'-the-wisp called Irish independence. Even if they got it there's not one man they could all agree on to make king. Right now the Irish aren't even serious in what they do. 'Tis the fighting they enjoy. No matter the widows and orphans they make. No matter the misery they cause, the famine, the children dying from lack of decent shelter. All that counts for naught in the face of glorious battle with those who sporadically lead the rebellions. They switch sides with the regularity of a whore entertaining her customers; each of them always seeking a better position over his neighbor, and joining with his neighbor's enemies if he can't maintain his own superiority alone. 'Tis a wicked game, Adam, and I'll have none of it!"

"But if you openly join with the English, Skye, your own people will consider you a traitor. They are too simple to understand the complexities of the situation. Do you understand that, sweetheart?"

"I have no intention of joining the English, Adam. I am the O'Malley of Innisfana, no matter my half-brothers. They cannot take from me that which our father gave me. They must obey me or be outlawed among their own, and I do not believe that they have the stomach for being cast out by their own people. What I shall do will have nothing to do with politics, be they English or Irish. What I do I will do for the survival of my family, and that is all."

"Will you tell the Queen that?" he asked, amused.

Skye laughed softly. "Let Bess Tudor think what she will, for I shall not let her know that I intend to stop my brothers no matter what. If she thinks I do her a service, so much the better for us, Adam."

"You don't intend to be one bit repentant about us, do you?" Adam's dark eyebrows waggled with amusement.

"What difference should our marriage have made to her?" Skye demanded irritably. "Neither you nor I are of any importance to the English Crown dynastically. We have never been permanent members of the court. The only time I followed the court was when Geoffrey was alive. She may say whatever she will, but she has no excuse for denying our marriage or calling our daughter a bastard. We were married by a priest of the Holy Catholic Church, and though the Queen may deny the Church dominion in England before her own authority, she has never denied the right of the Mother Church in spiritual matters, no matter the Protestants and their clamor."

"What a pity," Adam said, "that you and Elizabeth Tudor cannot be friends. You have that sharpness of intellect that the Queen admires."

"She needs too much fawning upon, Adam, and I have not the patience. Neither have you, for that matter. Would you really enjoy spending your days dancing in constant attendance upon a very stubborn lady in her middle years? She would give us no time for ourselves, Adam, and I, for one, could not abide that." Skye gave her head a final touch, and putting the brush aside, she flung her hair back with a graceful motion. "There," she said, "'tis finished, and I hear Daisy coming. Open the door for her, my darling."

With pleased confusion and a rosy blush Daisy re-entered the bedchamber carrying a heavy tray of food. "Oh, m'lord! Thank you!"

"'Tis nothing, lass, and it is good to see your pretty face again," he answered the tiring woman gallantly.

Daisy flushed again with pleasure, and said, "I've brought cider for you, m'lady, but I knew his lordship would appreciate some good nut-brown English ale. 'Tis a while, I'll wager, since he's tasted it." She set the tray down on the table by the fireplace as they drew their chairs forward.

"Daisy, lass, you've the soul of an angel and the heart of a loyal Englishwoman!" Adam exclaimed. "My stepfather may bottle some of France's finest wines, but I far prefer honest English ale! Thank you, lass!" he said, and bending from his great height, he gave her a hearty buss on the cheek.

"Ohh, m'lord!" Daisy grew redder, and then she scolded, "Sit down, m'lord, and eat. The Queen will be in a fine, tearing temper as it is."

The tray that Daisy had brought them contained thick slices of bread upon which had been set slices of pink ham and wedges of good English Cheddar that had then been toasted. The cheese was yet soft and burning, and the meal delicious to their taste in its simplicity. When the last crumb had been eaten and the ale and cider all drunk, they sat back for a minute in their chairs, smiling across the small table at one another. Another knock at the door brought them the news that Sir Christopher and his men were growing restive.

"I suppose we must get dressed and attend the Queen," Skye said.

"I think so, little girl," Adam replied, rising from the table and walking across the room to the connecting door between their rooms. With a grin he blew her a kiss before re-entering his own quarters.

A delighted smile touched her lips, and then Skye rose with a lazy yawn. "Is the black sapphire gown still in fashion, Daisy?"

"Aye, m'lady. I'll fetch it immediately."

It took almost a full hour for Skye to dress completely, but when she had finished she was well pleased with the results. The blue velvet of the gown was so dark it seemed almost black in color. It had a low, squarish neckline trimmed with two loops of pearls that were sewn in such a fashion as to outline her bosom. From the sides of the neckline protruded a fan-shaped neckwisk of delicate gold lace, and the full gold beribboned sleeves had beautiful matching cuff ruffs of the same lace. The overgown was plain, the under-gown of the same material and color, heavily decorated in pearls, gold beads, and golden threads that had been sewn in an intricate pattern of flowers, bees, and butterflies. The bodice was done more simply, being decorated only with pearls.

Skye's hair was gracefully fixed by Daisy into its elegant chignon, and dressed with loops of almost pinkish pearls. She wore a strand of matching pearls about her neck, from which bobbed one enormous sapphire teardrop that nesded between her full breasts. There were pearls in her ears, and even her dainty handkerchief was edged in the jewels. The buckles on her velvet shoes were carved from mother of pearl, and her heels had been covered in the iridescent shell.

With a smile Skye pirouetted for her husband as he entered the bedchamber. "What think you, m'lord? Am I formidable enough to discomfit the Queen?"

"Aye, little girl, and make her jealous as well." He struck a pose. "And what of me, madam? Do you approve my costume. Am I fit to be by your side?"

"Aye, m'lord!" she said with heartfelt admiration, taking in his black velvet costume, the doublet of which was outrageously and heavily decorated in diamonds and gold thread. About his neck Adam had chosen to wear the de Marisco pendant, a large, round golden medallion with a raised sea hawk, wings spread, done in enameled colors with a ruby eye. Between his great size, and the complete fashion of his costume he was really quite magnificent.

"Are you ready, madam?" he demanded, noting with some amusement that despite the richness of her jewels, she had chosen to wear upon her hands only his betrothal and wedding rings. Her subtlety delighted him, and he knew the Queen would notice, for Elizabeth Tudor rarely missed a thing.

As he watched them descend the staircase to the main floor of the house, Sir Christopher Hatton caught his breath. They were a simply stunning pair, and the Queen's captain could not help but wonder why they had never been to court in his time. He caught Skye's hand as she reached the bottom step, and raising it to his lips, he said with total honesty, "Madam, you are more than well worth the waiting for, if, my lord de Marisco, you will allow me the compliment to your wife."

"We accept the compliment in the spirit in which it was given, sir," Adam said softly.

The footmen hurried up with their capes, and Skye and Adam were enveloped in the fur-lined cloaks, Skye's with a fur-trimmed hood. Escorted by Hatton, they hurried outside into the crisp wind of the late afternoon and climbed into their waiting town coach. Immediately the door was shut upon them, they were off, their carriage surrounded and escorted on the road to Greenwich by the Queen's own Gentlemen Pensioners.

"Where in Hell is she?" Elizabeth Tudor swore for the hundredth time that afternoon. "Her damned ship anchored hours ago! Where is Hatton? This is intolerable, Cecil!"

"Patience, madam," counseled William Cecil, Lord Burghley. "She will be here shortly." He already knew that Skye O'Malley, that marvelous and impossible woman, had gone to her house on the Strand. He knew exactly what she was doing, but in this particular instance he had no intention of informing his mistress, for Elizabeth would only fly into a temper, and her anger could ruin everything. Lady de Marisco was as stubborn as the Queen. Cecil smiled to himself. He had thought of Skye O'Malley as Lady de Marisco, and indeed, despite the Queen's petulance in the matter, she was. That, he knew, would be the first order of business between them. Cecil smiled to himself again, and a small chuckle escaped his lips. It was going to be an interesting evening.

"What do you find so amusing?" Elizabeth snapped, but before Lord Burghley was forced to answer there was a knock upon the door and a maid of honor popped through it to announce, "Lord and Lady de Marisco are here, madam."

Elizabeth whirled. "Surely, Mistress Ann, you mean Lady Burke and Lord de Marisco," the Queen snarled.

"Y-yes, madam, your pardon," the maid of honor quavered. She was going to be in a great deal of trouble if the Queen found out about her liaison with Lord Dudley, and Lettice Knollys, the bitch, had seen them and was threatening to tell.

“They may come in," Elizabeth said regally, and quickly sat down in a high-backed, thronelike chair. As quickly she stood again, remembering the height of her guests and not wanting to be at any disadvantage.

Cecil, knowing her thought, hid a smile behind his hand as Skye and Adam swept into the room. By God, Lord Burghley thought at his first sight of them, this time she has truly found her mate! We'll not beat her now.

Skye's gaze met that of Elizabeth Tudor, and neither of them wavered. Then Skye curtseyed low and prettily as, by her side, her husband bowed with incredibly elegant flair; a flair not missed by the Queen, who appreciated such graces and good manner.

"I have said more than once, Lord de Marisco, that you were wasted upon that island of yours. You are indeed a man fit for my court."

Adam smiled warmly. 'Thank you, madam, but if I had my choice I should prefer my rock to your court. I am a simple man, and such radiance is too overpowering for me. I far prefer the quiet life."

"But your choice of companion, sir, is indeed not conducive to peace and a quiet life." The Queen looked defiantly at Skye.

"As I have said, madam, I am a simple man. Simple men follow their hearts, and I have followed mine, as I know you would follow yours were the burden of England not upon your frail shoulders. How fortunate your people are in their Queen."

"And are you, Lord de Marisco, fortunate in your Queen?"

"You have my loyalty, madam, until death."

"But not your heart?"

"No, madam, not my heart, for I cannot give what I no longer possess. I long ago gave my heart to Skye O'Malley."

"I could clap you in the Tower for that remark, Lord de Marisco. I could send you both there, but I suspect it would not make one bit of difference to either you or that Celtic jade you have married in France, in a Popish ceremony!"

A small grin teased at the corners of Adam's mouth, and he strove mightily to keep it from bursting into full bloom. "Madam, I must plead guilty, and I must beg your forgiveness and your indulgence for both my wife and myself; but in all honesty, neither Skye nor I would change anything we have done."

Elizabeth Tudor burst out laughing, and with surprising familiarity she gave Adam a friendly punch on the arm. 'That, my lord, is what I like about you!" she exclaimed. "You are just what you seem, and there is no deceit in you! Very well, you are forgiven your marriage, for I am forced to admit that looking at the pair of you I can see you are meant to be together." She turned to Skye. "As for you, madam, we have other, more pressing business."

"First I want my daughter," Skye said bluntly.

"What, madam?! You would bargain with me?” Elizabeth looked outraged.

"Would you not bargain with me?" Skye demanded. "Why else have you taken my daughter?"

“The child is safe at Hampton Court, madam. She will be returned to you."

"When?"

The Queen looked at Skye closely, and then sighing, said, "I will send a messenger out tonight."

"Your word is not enough, madam," came the shocking reply.

Adam put a hand on his wife's arm in warning while Cecil thought for a moment his heart had stopped. It was a fierce insult, and Elizabeth Tudor's gray-black eyes narrowed in anger. At that moment she looked very much like her father.

"Madam, must I remind you that you are my subject, and I am your Queen?"

"You are the Queen of England, madam, but I am Irish. To protect my Burke son's lands I did you a favor, a great favor, madam. I left my homeland and my children to marry for England's sake. The husband you chose for me, madam, was a cruel and unhappy man, but I offered no complaint, for you promised me that you would protect Padraic Burke's lands and his rights. You have given those lands to an Englishman, madam. My son is bereft of his heritage despite your promise to me." Skye looked defiantly at Elizabeth Tudor. "I kept my word to you, madam. Would that you had done the same."

"You are a thorn in my flesh, Skye O'Malley," the Queen said, "and you have ever been thus; but I need your aid now, and I will have it!"

"Return what belongs to me and mine, madam, and you shall have that aid. I want my child, the Burke lands, and Lundy Island. In return I shall do your bidding."

"Your child I will send for this night. The Burke lands I cannot return for fear of offending a loyal Englishman who serves me well, but I will give your son lands here in England. As for Lundy, I return it with one stipulation. You may not live on it, either of you. I'll give you no island base from which to strike out at me again! I will, however, my lord de Marisco, give you lands and a manor house of equal value, for I suspect that in marrying this termagent you have actually done me a service."

"My son is an Irish Burke!" Skye cried, for despite the fact that she knew the Queen was being overly generous, she ached at the loss of Padraic's inheritance.

"Precisely, madam, and by resettling him here in England as a child I shall have one less rebel to contend with in my old age, for he will grow up to be a loyal Englishman I have no doubt!" Elizabeth Tudor laughed at the irony of her victory over Skye. "Now, madam, I have done much for you, you must in return do something for me."

"Give over, little girl," Adam said softly. "You'll not beat her in this. She's been generous where she might have been harsh." Skye looked up at him, and he saw the sadness in her eyes, which were wet with diamond tears she would not shed. "You cannot always win, Skye," he said, and she nodded. This time their battle was a draw.

"Very well, madam," she answered, but her very agreement was edged in defiance, "what can I do to help you?"

"Your brothers and the O'Malley fleet have joined with that great rebel, your kinswoman, Grace O'Malley, to wage war against me. They harry the shipping lanes, which hurts this nation's commerce, and they encourage rebellion in Ireland. It is impossible, madam, to stop them for they are, I am forced grudgingly to admit, marvelous sailors. I sent Drake to Ireland a year ago, and even he cannot catch them! You could. You could stop your brothers, madam, and if you do you will cripple Grace O'Malley. That woman is a menace to England, and I would have her stopped!''

Skye pretended to consider the Queen's request, and then she said, "If I can stop my brothers, madam, I will need pardons for them all. I will not betray my family even for England's Queen."

"Granted."

"Then I shall try, madam," Skye said with feigned innocence.

"You had best succeed, madam!" came the sharp warning.

"I can only do my best, madam."

"Then God help your brothers," the Queen cackled, her good humor suddenly restored. She peered closely at Skye. "You took your time in getting here, madam. I was told that your ship arrived at midmorning."

"I could not appear travel-worn before England's Majesty, madam. I went home and took a bath," came the calm reply.

"You kept me waiting while you frolicked in your bath?" Elizabeth was outraged.

"I should have done Your Majesty no honor had I not bathed and attired myself in my finest clothes, madam. I am not so ill bred as to arrive before you smelling of sweat and the sea."

"You claim to do me honor, madam, and yet I sense that you actually defy me," Elizabeth grumbled. "But enough! You will stay for the evening meal, and you will tell me about the Duc d'Alençon. He seeks to marry me, y'know."

"In France they speak of nothing else," Skye said demurely.

Elizabeth Tudor preened, and then with girlish enthusiasm asked, "What is he really like?"

"He is an amusing man, madam. I believe you would find him quite compatible."

"Amusing?"

"He has wit, Majesty, or at least as much wit as any son of Catherine de Medici could have."

"They say he is badly pock-marked."

"He grows a beard even now to disguise it, madam. He is an attractive man, and a great favorite with the ladies."

Cecil listened to Skye and marveled. One moment she gave to the Queen, and in the next instant she took away. The duke was charming, but he was his mother's son. He was pock-marked, but handsome. He longed to be with Elizabeth, but the ladies of the French court would be desolate when he left them. Cecil smiled. This woman was definitely the Queen's equal, but that was a thought he would keep to himself.

Leaving the Queen's closet, they adjourned to the dining hall where the court was awaiting the arrival of Elizabeth Tudor. The Queen had now transferred her attentions to Adam, and Skye was left to herself.

"As fair as ever," a displeasingly familiar voice murmured in her ear, and Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, came around her into her view.

"As lecherous as ever, I've not a doubt," she returned, irritated as his eyes plunged boldly to fasten on her breasts. "You look as if you would eat me, my lord. Is there not meat enough at the Queen's board to satisfy you?"

"Only you could ever satisfy me, Skye."

"Only you, my lord, could ever revolt me so much with your want of delicacy."

"Ah, you Celtic bitch, as always your refusal of my passions ignites me with desire," he exclaimed, backing her against the wall. His arms pinioned her while his head dipped to press hot, wet kisses across the tops of her breasts.

Remembering a similar situation of several years earlier, Skye thought with a wicked little smile: The fool never learns, and then she brutally jammed her knee into the Earl of Leicester's groin. She was rewarded by instant release, and the silly, pained, surprised look upon his face. Calmly straightening her gown, Skye pushed past him, saying, "Dudley, I can't believe you don't remember our last encounter of this nature. I would also remind you that the last time you accosted me you were rather violently removed from my house by Lord de Marisco. He was only my friend then. Now he is my husband, and a most doting husband at that. I would that you think on it before you approach me again." Then with a polite mocking curtsey she moved from the shadows and up to the Queen's table, where a place had been made for her.

Robert Dudley swore, and then swore again as he heard low laughter near his car. "Hatton, say one word of what you saw, and I swear I shall run you through!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Sir Christopher Hatton chuckled with pleased laughter. "I would not have believed it, my lord," he jibed at the earl. "Did you not tell me yourself that she was a passionate little drab, and quite hot for you? By God, Dudley, I should hate to see a woman who didn't like you!" Laughing merrily, he moved off, leaving the earl most discomfited.

After the meal there was dancing, and although Skye would have far preferred to leave Greenwich and return to her house, she could not depart until the Queen had left, and Elizabeth Tudor, it seemed, was full of energy, and as merry as May this night. She danced with verve, and more with Sir Christopher than any other man in the room. Remembering Adam's teasing remark about Hatton dancing divinely, Skye had to admit that he was the best dancer she had ever seen; and seeing Dudley sulking on the sidelines gave her great pleasure.

"Good even, Mama," Robin said, coming up to stand beside her.

Skye turned, and with a pleased smile gave her son a swift kiss. "You are not surprised to see me?" she asked.

“The Queen told us some weeks ago that you would be returning to court, Mama."

"Did she also tell you the manner of her invitation to us, Robin?"

The young earl looked puzzled. "I don't understand," he said.

"The Queen's agents kidnaped Velvet," Skye said quietly.

"God's nightshirt!"

"Do not use such language, Robin," the mother in Skye scolded.

"Your pardon, Mama, but I was so surprised by your disclosure I could not help myself. Is Velvet all right?"

"So the Queen assures me, although I have insisted that my baby be returned immediately. Velvet is at Hampton Court."

"Why?"

"Your uncles in Ireland are causing difficulties, and the Queen wants my aid in suppressing their high spirits."

Robin laughed. 'The Irish are always causing trouble," he said matter-of-factly.

“This is serious," Skye said, "and I would remind you, my lord earl, that you are half Irish."

"By blood, yes, madam," Robin replied quietly, "but my heart and my loyalties are all English."

"Yes, Robin, they are. I have raised you to be your father's son. I might have done otherwise. I, however, am Irish, but I do not condone these useless rebellions in which your uncles have involved themselves, and I must stop them before they do any serious damage to the family."

The young earl nodded. He understood the difficulty of his mother's position. "I am sure that the Queen has not hurt Velvet," he said.

"No, she has not, but nonetheless it was a terrible thing to do to us. I have, however, exacted my price in return for my aid. The Queen has recognized our marriage, both Adam and your brother, Padraic, have been given estates, and Lundy has been returned to us."

"Padraic has his lands back?"

"Not in Ireland. The Queen would not give him back the Burke lands."

Robin saw the sadness in his mother's eyes, and he put a hand on hers, saying, "I am sorry, Mother, but at least we are now less a house divided, and for that I am glad."

"Where is Willow?" Skye asked her son, changing the subject, for she could no longer think of Padraic's loss without weeping.

"Look for the Earl of Alcester, Mama," Robin said. "Wherever he is, Willow will be."

"God's blood!" Skye swore. "Did I not warn her about involving herself with a man?!"

"'Tis not Willow who has involved herself with Alcester, but rather the other way around," Robin said with a smile. "He is quite smitten with her, and in a position to offer marriage, Mama."

“Tell me."

"James, Lord Edwardes, Earl of Alcester," Robin began. "Aged twenty-four, a widower with one child, a daughter. Educated, well mannered, neither drinks nor gambles to excess. He seems to enjoy the ladies, but is no lecher, I'm told. I rather like him, Mama, and Willow, for all her hoity-toity ways, likes him too, although she hasn't given the poor fellow the least encouragement." Robin chuckled, a sophisticated sound far beyond his years, Skye thought. "He's rather shy, I think."

"What of his family?" Skye demanded, for this young man surely had a family who would object to their son's marriage to a young woman not of the nobility.

"His parents are both dead, Mama. He has a paternal grandmother, I am told, but no one else of note."

"What of his finances? Surely there is some gossip about that."

"He's not rich, Mama, but neither is he a pauper. I have been told that his estate is small, but well kept." Here Robin made his voice even lower. "He doesn't know the extent of Willow's wealth, Mama. No one at court does, for she hasn't been here that long. Besides, Willow is rather closemouthed about her affairs, and spends very little of her allowance."

Skye smiled with satisfaction. Her daughter was being quite discreet, and that was all to the good. She looked about the room, and finally spotted Willow standing amid a group of laughing young people. How lovely she looked in her garnet-red velvet gown, and how delighted Khalid would have been with her, the doting mother couldn't help thinking. "Which one is Alcester?" she asked Robin.

"The young man by her right elbow."

Skye let her gaze assess her daughter's would-be suitor. He was a pleasant-looking young man of medium height with light brown hair. He was well built, and his young face had an intelligent and kindly look to it. "Introduce me," she commanded Robin.

Robin offered his mother his arm and led her across the floor to where his sister stood with her friends. Suddenly Willow saw them coming, and her eyes lit up joyfully. Breaking away from the group, she ran the few steps between them.

"Mama!"

Skye enfolded her daughter into her arms and hugged her tightly. "I have missed you these weeks," she said, "and how lovely you look tonight, my precious. I see you are wearing Nicolas's pearls, and how pretty they look on you."

"Mama."

Skye looked up, and then moving away from Willow, she saw Robin with the Earl of Alcester. "Yes, Robin?" she said, feigning surprise.

"Mama, I would present to you Lord James Edwardes, the Earl of Alcester. My lord, my mother, Lady de Marisco."

Alcester caught her hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. "Lady de Marisco, it is my pleasure. Now I know where Mistress Willow gets her beauty."

"Really, Alcester," Willow said, flushing with pleasure though her voice was sharp with pretended annoyance, "I am said to look like my father."

"Both you and your mother have dark hair," poor Alcester protested.

"Quite true, my lord," Skye agreed. "How astute of you to notice it, and as for you, Willow, surely I have taught you better manners. His lordship offered you a compliment. Thank him, and accept it graciously." Skye smiled at her daughter, then at the earl. "Now," she said, "you will excuse me, for I must find my husband. Willow, we are at Greenwood for several days, and then we must go to Ireland. Please come to see us." Skye kissed her daughter, and then smiling again at Alcester, she bid him farewell.

Finding Adam, she remained with him until the Queen had left and they were free to depart for Greenwood. As they rode back to their house she told him of Willow's suitor. "I think we will be approached by his lordship before we leave for Ireland. Find out what you can about the young man. Robin's information is encouraging."

"What does Willow think of him?" Adam queried.

"I have not had the opportunity to find out, but I suspect from what I have seen she is not averse to his suit. We shall see. I will never force her to a husband, as my father forced me to Dom O’Flaherty."

Adam put his arm around his wife. "All that was long ago, sweetheart. We will be certain it is what Willow wants."

Neither Skye nor Adam had the opportunity to check further on the Earl of Alcester, however, for the following afternoon he arrived unannounced at Greenwood. "I hope you will forgive what must seem a lack of manners on my part," he apologized, "but I understand that you will not be staying in London long, and I wished to speak with you about Willow."

"Indeed, sir, be seated," Adam invited the earl, who sat down on the edge of a chair. "What is it you wish?"

"I want to marry your daughter, sir," the earl said.

"Willow is my stepdaughter, my lord. She is my wife's child by her second marriage to a Spanish nobleman."

"Why is it you wish to wed with my daughter, my lord?" Skye asked quietly.

Alcester flushed, and then said as quietly, "Because I love her, madam."

"I do not see how you can love her, my lord, though I doubt not your good intentions. You have known Willow but a short time. My daughter and I are very close, and she has not written me of you, nor has she said anything about her affections being engaged."

"Madam, Willow is the most discreet of maidens. From the moment she arrived at court I could see she was different from the others. She is chaste where many are not. She is kind, and devout, and intelligent. I worship the very ground she walks upon, and I would make her my wife."

"If, my lord," Adam said, "we were to consider your suit-and mind you, we will do so only should Willow approve-what dowry would you ask?"

"I am not a wealthy man, my lord," the earl replied, "but I am not poverty-stricken. I can provide comfortably for a wife. Whatever dowry you wish to offer I will accept."

"You are not aware then that my daughter is an heiress, my lord?" Skye looked closely at James Edwardes.

"An heiress?" The Earl of Alcester looked dumbfounded. "I d-did not know, madam."

Studying the young man's face, Skye decided that he was telling the truth. 'Willow's father was a wealthy man, my lord, and she is also the heiress to her godfather, Sir Robert Small. Should she agree to entertain your suit a generous dowry will be set aside for you, but the bulk of my daughter's wealth must remain in her hands. If you are willing to agree to that then we shall speak with Willow."

"Do you control your own wealth, madam? I had heard the rumor that it was so."

"I do, my lord, and it has always been thus since my first marriage. A man is entitled to his dowry, but a woman is also entitled to have her own monies so she may not be beholden to anyone. You have noted that Willow is an intelligent girl, and so she is. Intelligent enough to know how to invest her capital, for I have taught her and so has Sir Robert. If you will trust her she will increase her wealth."

"Unusual as it is, madam, I will agree to your terms, for I truly do love Willow. There are others, madam, like the Countess of Shrewsbury, Bess of Hardwick, who control their own wealth. If Shrewsbury can live with it then surely I can." He smiled mischievously, and seeing his smile for the first time, Skye thought that the earl was a most handsome young man. "Besides, madam, Willow is far prettier than Bess of Hardwick."

"I should certainly hope so!" Willow exclaimed, coming through the door of the morning room. "Good day, Mama, Papa. Alcester, what are you doing here?"

"He has come to ask for your hand in marriage, Willow," Skye answered, thinking that her daughter was perhaps a trifle too pert. "I am not sure you are old enough, however."

"Mama!" Willow shrieked, and blushing, she turned to James Edwardes. "Mama is not teasing? You really want to marry me?"

The earl looked down at Willow with a tender expression in his brown eyes. "My dear, I have wanted to marry you from the moment I first set eyes on you. Will you have me, Willow? I will do my best to make you happy." Boldly he drew her close to him, and gazed into her face.

Looking up at him, Willow whispered, "Oh, James, I did not dare to hope. Yes! Oh, yes! I shall be so proud to be your wife!"

The earl bent to kiss Willow, and Skye felt Adam reach for her hand. She looked at him, and he saw the tears in her eyes. He knew her thoughts in that moment. She was thinking of Willow's father, Khalid el Bey. "He would be proud of her," Adam said softly.

"Yes," she answered him, "he would be proud of her." And then Skye thought of how she had kept Willow safe all these years, safe to reach adulthood, to marry a fine young man like James Edwards. Yes, Khalid would be content.

Willow looked positively radiant, all rosy with blushes, and the earl was suddenly very sure of himself and totally masculine. Skye and Adam both smiled at the young couple, and then Skye spoke.

"You cannot be married until next spring after Willow's fifteenth birthday," she said, "and you must have the Queen's permission. She becomes, I have found, most irritable when not kept informed with regard to the lives of her courtiers."

The earl nodded, and then turned to Adam. "When would you like to sign the betrothal agreements, my lord?"

"Not until after the Queen has given her permission, Alcester. We will not give Elizabeth Tudor the chance to spoil your happiness by claiming that she was not informed from the very beginning."

The Queen was told that evening that the widowed Earl of Alcester wished to marry Mistress Willow Small, a maid of honor. Looking at the pair, Elizabeth Tudor was strangely touched. Usually the defection of one of her maids was cause for a temper tantrum; and in the short time Willow had been at court the Queen had grown fond of the young girl. Still, Willow's innocence was unquestionable, and Alcester was known to be an honorable man. "If I give my permission," the Queen said, "when would the marriage be celebrated, madam?" and she looked at Skye.

"Not until after Willow's birthday next April, Majesty," came the calm reply.

The Queen nodded. It was a respectable amount of time for a proper betrothal period. "I am happy to give my permission for your daughter to wed with the Earl of Alcester, Lady de Marisco. I shall expect to be invited to the wedding provided that you have settled things in Ireland by then."

"I shall do my best, madam," Skye said demurely. Not for the world would she spoil Willow's good fortune.

There was a knock at the door of the Queen's closet where they had been gathered, and Elizabeth called out her permission to enter. The door opened to reveal Sir Christopher Hatton, who was carrying something in his arms.

"You sent for this, Majesty."

"Give it to Lady de Marisco," the Queen commanded.

Hatton handed his bundle to Skye, and with pounding heart she took it as the woolen cloak fell away to reveal the sleeping Velvet. "Oh, my baby," she whispered as Adam leapt to her side with a soft oath to gaze down at their daughter. With a gentle ringer he touched Velvet's pink cheek, and the baby opened her blue eyes to sleepily murmur, "Papa," at him.

"Now, madam," Elizabeth said, "you have your daughter back. When do you leave for Ireland?"

"As soon as I have settled my children, Majesty."

The Queen, who knew that little Velvet was her godchild, chucked the baby under the chin, and said, "Court is no place for my goddaughter. I assume that you will send her to Devon, but what of young Mistress Burke and her brother? Would you allow them to remain here at court? Lord Burke may join my pages, and his sister would be safe in the Countess of Lincoln's household."

Skye knew that Elizabeth Tudor was demanding her children as hostages for her success in Ireland. "Lord Burke," she said, "I know would be thrilled to take his place among your pages, madam, and with his brother, the earl, to watch over him I know he would be safe. My daughter, Deirdre, however, is another matter. Although I feel she would be better off with the countess, she carries a fear of being separated from me again. Might we leave that decision up to her?"

The Queen's face softened with sympathy. She understood the fears of a lonely child well, having been motherless since age three. "Of course," she agreed. "If mistress Deirdre wishes to go with you I will understand."

Much to Skye's surprise, Deirdre wanted to stay with Geraldine FitzGerald, the lovely Countess of Lincoln. Like her sister and her brothers, the little girl was fascinated by the Tudor court. It was one thing to be left with an elderly uncle or aunt, but to be left at court was quite another matter! Skye felt almost betrayed, and grumbled indignantly. Adam, however, found the whole thing amusing on one hand, and very fortuitous on the other.

"Your mission is a serious one, sweetheart," he said. "It is better we not be encumbered by the children. I fear not the Queen's captivity, but in Ireland it could be dangerous for them to be used as pawns."

She knew that he was right, and so they drove down to Devon where Velvet was left safely at Wren Court with Dame Cecily. Told of Willow's betrothal, Dame Cecily burst into tears, sobbing that she was so very, very happy for her baby.

"I can't believe she's old enough to wed," the good woman wept joyously. '"Twas only yesterday I was changing her nappies."

Skye smiled to herself as she patted her old friend comfortingly. Willow, she thought, amused, would be simply mortified to be reminded of such a thing. She reassured Dame Cecily that James Edwardes was a wonderful man, and the perfect husband for Willow.

Then Skye took the opportunity to see Daisy's two small sons. Both looked like their father but for their gap-toothed smiles, which were their inheritance from their mother. The de Mariscos did not stay long in Devon though, departing the day after their arrival for Innisfana Island, on the west coast of Ireland, the ancestral home of Skye O'Malley.

Skye had taken the precaution to send a message on ahead calling her brothers into a family council. She knew that were they not on Innisfana they would be easy to reach for Grace O'Malley's sailors never ventured far from Ireland. It had been a long while since she had seen them, over five years, and in that time they had squandered everything she had built up for the O'Malleys since her father's death. She knew that her gentle and soft-spoken stepmother had exercised no control over her four sons; but why had she allowed them to take up with Grace O'Malley? She knew her brothers well enough to know that they were not patriots. She could only conclude that they had joined with Grace simply for the fun of a little hell-raising.

It was not harmless fun, however, Skye thought, and had her own family not been so intimately involved, she would have let her half-brothers pursue their own destructive course. She had no future in Ireland, and neither now did any of her children. She agreed with Elizabeth Tudor, who had said: "There is only one Christ Jesus, and one faith; the rest is a dispute about trifles." She and the Queen would never be friends, but Skye's loyalty was never seriously questioned, for her views were Erastian enough to protect her.

They sailed south into St. George's Channel, around Cape Clear, and north to Innisfana. It was November now, and the northerlies were sweeping down the Atlantic from the Arctic. Still the sky was clear, and although cold, it was pleasant sailing. Only once did they see another sail on the horizon, but that was from a ship inward bound to England from the New World, and they did not pass within hailing distance of each other.

Skye owned eight ships, and they were all with her, having by fortunate coincidence been in England at this time when she needed them. Like all the O'Malley ships, they were sleek and built for speed as well as cargo. Each one was well armed in order to defend itself, and as a fleet they were a powerful weapon, particularly since they had added more cannon as they were carrying no cargo this time.

Several days before they sailed Skye had assembled all her crews, and spoken quite frankly to them about why she was going home, and the fact that they might find themselves in a fight. About half her men were Irish, and she offered them the opportunity to remain in port and take passage on other vessels rather than fight their own people.

Bran Kelly spoke for the Irish. "We're your men, and our loyalty is to you, the O'Malley. We've all got family in Ireland, most of our people on Innisfana or O’Flaherty lands. If yer brothers cause more trouble with the English it's our women and children who'll bear the brunt of their vengeance."

There came a chorus of ayes as the Irish nodded and whispered among themselves.

"We'd just as soon stick by you, m'lady," Bran continued, and the rest of the men again nodded their agreement.

There was little to do on the voyage, and Skye spent a good deal of time pacing restlessly about the decks, or leaning over the bow rail staring hard ahead into the endless horizon. She disliked dissension, and because she must reassert her clan authority upon her brothers she was going to cause much dissension within her family. She wondered how Anne would react. Would she agree with her stepdaughter, or would she side blindly with her beloved sons?

"Dammit," Skye said aloud, "it was not up to me to raise them! Why could Anne have not been strong?"

Adam stood behind his wife, his strong arms wrapped about her lithe form. "You judge people by your own yardstick, Skye," he said softly. "Most women are not strong like you. They are meek, gentle creatures who rely upon their men for everything, including their very thoughts. Anne O'Malley has been widowed for sixteen years now. Her whole life has been the memory of your father, and her boys."

"My dear brothers, who have all been spoiled rotten and obviously have no sense of responsibility," Skye fussed. "I sent them to the sea to learn its ways, and I saw that they were taught to read and to write, and to do their numbers. Yet they waste everything I have built up for them, and they play at rebellion without a care for their families or their people. In Da's time a man might be a freebooter without incurring the royal wrath, but times have changed."

"Yes, little girl, you see that, for you are out in the world, but your brothers have never left Ireland, and have no desire to do so. Change is slow in coming to your green and misty land, Skye. Your people are a hundred years behind England, and you know it."

Skye pressed her lips tightly in a narrow line of disapproval. There was no use talking, for talk would change nothing. Adam was right, Ireland was behind the times. She sighed deeply with regret, and wondered if she could really prevent her four half-brothers from destroying themselves, from destroying Innisfana and their people.

"Is this a fool's chase?" she asked Adam, turning her face up to his.

"I don't know, sweetheart. You can only try."

"Damn Grace O'Malley," Skye said vehemently. "She plays the power game, as does the Queen. But I'll not let her destroy us. I'll not!"

Chapter 18

Grace O'Malley, the pirate queen of Connaught, looked directly at Anne O'Malley, her kinswoman, and then said to her first in command: "Signal my ship to fire on anyone attempting to enter Innisfana's harbor without my permission."

"Aye," the man grunted, and went off to do his mistress's bidding.

"You can't do that!" Anne protested. "My stepdaughter, the O'Malley, will be arriving any day now. 'Tis her domain, and you've no authority over it."

"She forfeited her authority when she married an Englishman," Grace spat.

"Aye," Brian O'Malley agreed. I’m the O'Malley now, Mother."

"Unless Skye passes on her responsibility to you, Brian, as your father passed it on to her, you're not," Anne snapped, "and none of our people will recognize you as such."

"Shut yer mouth, woman," Grace ordered rudely, and with an outraged look Anne fell silent.

There was going to be some difficulty when Skye finally came, Anne knew. Skye and Grace would detest each other on sight, but she prayed that her stepdaughter could right things. Most of it was her own fault, Anne realized. She had been so lost after Dubhdara had died, and she had clung to her sons, indulging and spoiling them so they would love her and she wouldn't be alone. They had grown into four big mirror images of their father, but they had not Dubhdara O'Malley's strength of character.

They were, Anne was ashamed to admit, weak but well meaning men who drank too much, and wenched too much, and were given to foolishness, such as pirating with their distant cousin, Grace, and her men. Eventually the English were going to descend on Innisfana and wreak their vengeance. Thank God that Skye was coming home! She would set everything to rights, even this matter of Grace O'Malley.

There was a dull boom, followed by several more, and running to the window, they saw a fleet of eight ships entering the harbor under full sail. Behind them, Grace O'Malley's vessel keeled slowly over and sank into the bay. Even at this distance they could see men in the water, clinging to the rigging.

"Sweet Jesu, my ship's been sunk!" Then Grace O'Malley swore a violent string of vulgar Gaelic oaths that caused even Brian to redden.

Anne put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as her eldest son said with pompous understatement, "My sister is come home at last. Now we'll settle this matter between us."

"Aye," Anne said softly, "Skye will settle it, I've not a doubt, Brian, but I think mayhap 'twill not be to yer liking."

"Mother, you must uphold my right!"

"Brian, I've warned ye that you've no rights in this matter. Yer father of sainted memory, may God assoil his dear soul, passed on his authority to your sister, Skye. It is her right to hold that authority, or pass it on to whomever she deems fit."

"It's not right that she hold the title if she's not here to physically hold the authority," Grace O'Malley said slyly.

"Skye has always taken care of Innisfana and its people, even from a distant shore," Anne defended her stepdaughter. "She's done a fine job building our wealth, which my sons have squandered. Perhaps if one of them had shown any maturity, she would have passed on her badge of office."

“The woman is in England's hire," Grace said scornfully. "She's no better than an English landlord!"

“That's right!" Brian agreed.

"I wonder if you have the courage to say that to your sister, my son," Anne murmured.

"I'm not afraid of Skye," Brian blustered.

"Well, you damned well ought to be if you're the one responsible for trying to prevent me entry into my own harbor," Skye snapped, striding into the hall of the O'Malley tower house, her husband and her captains at her back. She glanced about the room. "Good day, Anne," she said, and then her glance flicked to the other woman who was sprawled insolently in a chair.

"You sunk my ship," Grace drawled.

"It got in my way," came the reply.

"Could you not have asked it to move then?" Grace said with some humor as she stood up.

Skye looked at this woman who was her relative. She had to be at least six feet tall. She was big-boned like a man, but handsome in appearance with sparkling deep-blue eyes, and short, dark curls. Skye knew that Grace was a good ten years older than she was, but the woman didn't show it. "Anyone sending a warning shot across my bow is looking for a fight," Skye said. "No one bars me entry to my own harbor, my own holding. Do you think to add Innisfana to your own lands, cousin?"

Adam watched, amused. Here were two well-matched hellcats, although he felt that Skye and her eight ships held the advantage.

Grace O'Malley caught his assessing look, and gave him a slow smile as she calmly took him in from head to toes. "Innisfana's too small for me to be bothered with, cousin," came her reply, and then she said, "Who is this big handsome stud? If he's one of yer captains I've a mind to hire him away from ye." Grace O'Malley's appetite for attractive men was well known, and her lovers were legion.

"That's something else you can't have, cousin. This is my husband, Lord de Marisco."

"'Tis the second Englishman ye've married, Skye O'Malley," came the faintly insulting reply. "The first, I'm told, was a golden-haired fop, but as for this one…" Again she raked him with a bold look, her eyes deliberately lingering where they should not. "Well, dearie, 'tis enough to make me curious to perhaps sample one."

"Not this one," Skye said in a cold, even voice.

"Are ye Englishmen then ruled by yer women, Lord de Marisco?"

"Only when they're beautiful and hot-blooded Irish wenches. madam," Adam said with an amused grin. "One O'Malley is more than enough for me."

Grace laughed, appreciating his humor and seeing with her shrewd eye that the man was in love. Her younger cousin had always had the Divil's own luck when it came to men, she thought enviously.

"I’ll have someone sail you up to Clare, cousin," Skye said, "and any of your pirates we've managed to fish out of the sea." She turned. "MacGuire! Take her home, man!"

"Aye, m'lady," came the reply. Then the old captain turned to Grace O'Malley. "Follow me," he said shortly, and departed the room.

Grace picked up her fur cloak from where she had carelessly thrown it and, with a wink at Adam, said, "Farewell, cousin, de Marisco. We'll meet again, I've not a doubt." Then without any pretense at hurry she sauntered after MacGuire.

Skye turned on Brian. "Where are your brothers?" she demanded.

“They're about," he answered sullenly. "We just didn't expect ye so quickly."

"I’ll wager you didn't! Fetch them, Brian. I want them here within the hour! Get out now!" Brian O'Malley almost ran from the room. When he had gone Skye turned to her stepmother. "Anne, I'm sorry, but I'm going to take their hides off. 'Tis bad enough what they've wasted, but you realize they're within a hair's breadth of losing everything else."

"I couldn't handle them, Skye. I needed yer father, for they're his lads right enough. Michael, bless him, never gave me a moment's grief, but my own four needed a man's influence. Yer Uncle Seamus couldn't be around all the time, and there was no one else."

"I know, Anne. 'Tis just the way things turned out," Skye soothed her stepmother, although she secretly thought that had Anne been a stronger woman, there would have been no problem. She looked about the hall, and was surprised at what she saw. 'This place is filthy," she noted. "I've never known you to keep a dirty house, Anne."

"'Tis not my house any longer, Skye. Ever since Brian married my niece, Maggie O'Brian, she's been mistress here, and she'll accept neither help, nor advice from me."

Skye felt a bolt of irritation shoot through her. She remembered how lovely the hall had been when it had been Anne's responsibility. The tables had gleamed with beeswax and rubbing, reflecting back the huge porcelain bowls of flowers, either fresh or dried depending on the season, that Anne always filled the house with. Looking around, she saw that the tabletops were smeared and dull; the chair cushions dusty, frayed, and worn. The giant andirons were black from lack of polish and the fireplace walls thick with greasy, black soot. There were dust balls in all the corners, and rushes filled with bones covered the floors. The corners of the ceilings were cobwebbed, and the place stank to high heaven.

"I’ll not have it!" Skye roared furiously. "Where in hell are the servants! Dammit, Anne, get the servants in here at once!" She turned to her captains. "Secure the harbor," she commanded. "I’ll expect you all for dinner tomorrow. I don't dare ask you tonight for fear there is no dinner in this badly run establishment!"

Skye's captains hurried from the room, glad to be free of what promised to be a battle royal with their mistress taking on not only her half-brothers, but a sister-in-law as well. Anne O'Malley had already fled the hall seeking the servants. Alone with her husband, Skye said, "It's impossible, Adam! The whole damn thing is impossible! Anne is a sweet woman, but she is so easily overridden by not only my brothers, but obviously Brian's wife also! What am I to do? I cannot stay here and control their lives always. We have our own life to live, and dammit, I want that life!"

He took her in his arms and held her tightly. Skye pressed herself against his velvet doublet while the familiar, clean smell of the spicy clove-scented soap he used soothed her turbulent emotions. He knew how Skye loved a calm and orderly house, and to find that her childhood home, which she had left well tended, had become a slovenly disgrace was disturbing to her, especially coupled with the fact she must regain control of her brothers. "It will be all right, little girl. Lady Anne knows what must be done. Delegate the authority back to her, and with your support she will be able to function once more."

"Ummm," Skye murmured, hearing him, but suddenly wishing she were anyplace else with Adam but the middle of the hall of O'Malley House. She snuggled against him for a brief moment, and feeling his own desire awakening, Adam scolded her gently.

"Dammit, little girl, this is neither the place nor the time!''

"Don't you want me?" She rubbed teasingly against him, suddenly feeling mischievous.

"Skye!" He tried to put her away from him, but she clung tighter, and to both his horror and his delight her questing hand slipped beneath his doublet and around to caress his buttock. "Skye, you vixen, cease your torture or I swear I’ll take you right here and now, no matter the consequences!"

"Do you want me, Adam?" she repeated.

"Yes!" he groaned through gritted teeth, and she released him to stand demurely back, laughing softly at his discomfort.

"I want you too," she said. "For the life of me I don't know why we didn't take Velvet back to Belle Fleur and leave the O'Malleys to Hell!"

"Because, sweetheart, you are your father's daughter. You accepted the responsibility for your family from him, and you are not a woman to go back on your word."

"I could pass the mantle on to Brian," she said.

"Knowing that he's not fit for it, Skye? You've too much conscience, I'm thinking."

"Aye, worse luck!" she agreed.

Adam chuckled. "You'll feel better after you've knocked a few stubborn O'Malley heads around," he promised her as into the hall straggled a group of shabby-looking women and several men led by Anne and another, younger woman.

"This is my daughter-in-law, Maggie," Anne introduced the girl.

"How old are you?" Skye demanded, too angry to even greet her unknown sister-in-law civilly. The girl was a little bit of a thing with sharp features and carrot-red hair.

"Seventeen," came the mumbled reply.

"Didn't your mother teach you how to manage a household?" Skye demanded.

"Me mother died when I was four or five. I was the eighth child, m'lady."

“Then what in the name of God gave you the idea you could run this house, lass? Why did you remove Lady Anne from her position as chatelaine?"

"I’m the O'Malley's wife," came the reply. "I couldn't allow another in me place. My older sisters all said if I didn't make clear from the beginning that I was the lady of the house, I wouldn't ever be.''

"I think we'd best get several things straight," Skye said patiently, although she was longing to smack this rather stupid girl. "My brother, Brian, is not the O'Malley, I am. This is my house in which you live, and you've turned it into a pigsty! Rushes on the floors! Sweet Jesu, this house hasn't seen rushes on the floors since my father was a boy! Where are the fine carpets we had? Now listen to me, Maggie O'Malley, the Lady Anne will resume her duties as chatelaine of this house until she no longer desires that position. You will learn from her so that when the day comes she believes you competent you may take over from her. From the looks of this place 'twill take at least ten years for you to learn! How many children do you have?"

"Four."

"Any girls?"

"One."

"When she's old enough then she'll learn too, and her sisters, should she have any!" Skye turned and looked with a hard eye at the servants. "Diligence will be rewarded in this house, and laziness will be punished. I'm not averse to beating my servants when they don't perform." She glared fiercely at them, and the little group visibly quailed while Adam sought to not laugh, for Skye had never been known to hit a servant. "I am the O'Malley. D'you understand? 'Tis my orders that will be obeyed here, and you're to obey as well Lady Anne unless I tell you not to. Is that understood?"

Wide-eyed, the group nodded.

“The hall first, Anne, please."

Anne O'Malley, her confidence suddenly restored, began issuing quick orders. "You, Maeve, get those rushes up! Mab, bring the beeswax, and let's get started on those tables! Paddy, you and Tam clean the fireplaces and the andirons! The rest of you, use yer eyes and yer brooms! I want this hall shining by nightfall!" With a quick smile she turned to Skye. "Use my apartments until this place is clean. I'll send the boys to you as soon as they arrive."

Skye kissed Anne lightly on the cheek. "My thanks," she said, and with Adam following her she led the way to her stepmother's rooms. They had barely settled themselves when Skye's brothers arrived, banging noisily into the room without knocking and causing their elder sister to shriek outraged at them as they tracked mud across Anne's beautiful Turkey carpet. Sheepishly they backed out again, removing their footwear at her command before re-entering the chamber. Anne's rooms were the only haven of cleanliness right now in the entire house, and Skye had no intention of allowing her brothers to ruin it.

Grinning, they stood before her, all big men as their father had been. Three had his startlingly bright blue eyes, each sported a bushy black beard, and all had black, black hair, which they wore longer than was currently fashionable.

"Well," Skye said quietly, "you all look like Da, but you're not one whit like him, for our father wasn't stupid and the four of you certainly are! Between you you've not the brain of a chicken!"

"Ye're not being fair, Skye," Brian whined.

"Fair!" She looked scornfully at them. "I spent my youth building up the wealth of this family, for wealth, my dear brothers, is power! I was forced into making a foreign marriage, and so I left you, Brian, in charge of the O'Malley wealth. And what have you done with it? You've squandered it!"

"Money is to be spent!" Brian reasoned.

"Spent intelligently, not squandered, you dolt! What have you done to increase our wealth? Where did you think additional monies were going to come from?"

"Da had monies."

"Da had little," she replied. "He scavenged wrecks, some of which, I am certain, he caused. He preyed upon an occasional fat merchant vessel caught without protection. He was more pirate than I care to admit! He wanted better for you when he died."

"Died and left his authority to you, Skye," Brian said bitterly as his brothers, Shane, Shamus, and Conn, nodded in agreement.

"Ah, that's what rankles you, isn't it, Brian? Da left the authority to me. How you would love to be the O'Malley! Well, my little brother, you were barely six when Da died, and our brother Michael, only eight. There was no one else that Da chose to trust. He knew that I would not fail him. Authority, Brian, comes only to those who are willing to accept responsibility, and so far I have seen nothing on the part of any of you to indicate to me that you are willing to grow up! When I see maturity in any one of you, Brian, I promise you that I will pass on my authority. Until then I will continue to keep my faith with our father, may God assoil him."

Adam sat back quietly in the shadows of a window seat to watch and listen as Skye spoke with her four half-brothers. He understood the frustration the younger men must be feeling, but he was forced to agree with his wife in her judgments. The O'Malley brothers were not capable of handling responsibility.

"Dammit, Skye," Shamus O'Malley exclaimed, "it's embarrassing having to answer to a woman! 'Tis all right for children, but we're grown men!"

"Strange," Skye murmured. "You chafe under my very light authority over you, but you're quick to throw in with Grace O'Malley and her cutthroats. Don't tell me that our kinswoman doesn't issue orders to you, for I know if you sail with her you answer to her, Shamus." She looked piercingly at her four brothers, who shuffled their feet nervously, and then she sat down, waving the men to chairs also. 'Tell me, Brian," she said, looking hard at him, "tell me what you would do if you were the O'Malley of Innisfana?"

A huge grin split his face, and it was obvious that Brian had thought often about being the head of his family. "Why, I'd go apirating with Grace, and I'd fight the damned English right back across the sea to their own puny island! God's bones, what fun we'd have, eh brothers?!"

Shane and Shamus O'Malley nodded at their elder sibling, and each sported an identical foolish grin upon his broad face. Skye had the incredible urge to hit them, for despite their ages, they were terribly childish.

"How would you feed your peoples while you were gone?" she demanded. "Who would protect Innisfana from our marauding friends and neighbors, not to mention the vengeful English? Having nothing of your own, Brian, what provisions could you make for your family, and all the others for whom you would be responsible? I've seen the results of giving you even small authority."

"What in Hell is that supposed to mean?" Brian shouted.

"It means you wasted all you had, and now you have nothing! You delivered the management of this house into the hands of your wife, a nice enough girl I've not a doubt, but a slattern when it comes to household matters! You've no judgment, Brian! You don't look at the long run. You'd run off with Grace O'Malley, leaving Innisfana and its peoples unprotected and poverty-stricken. While you fought the English your neighbors would be making up to them, aiding them and taking your holding in payment for their treacherous service!

“The first rule of survival is to stay out of politics! The second is to avoid a situation in which you cannot win. The English are just that, Brian. Ireland will never be free of them until they can unite beneath the banner of one leader, and I see no hope of that. Therefore your first duty is to survive, and to aid this family in its survival! If you want to be the O'Malley then show me the qualities that make a good leader, Brian. God knows I'll be glad to pass on my authority! I'm tired of being responsible for you all! I'm tired of having to answer to an English Queen for your behavior, and I want to live my own life free of such encumbrances! I cannot be quit of you, however, until I am satisfied that you can really be a leader! Until then you'll obey me, for I am the O'Malley!" She looked directly at them, daring any of them to argue with her, but they avoided her gaze. She knew they resented her, but she also knew that she was right about them.

Suddenly Shane asked, "What do we do then, Skye? If we don't go pirating with Grace O'Malley, and fight the English, what do we do?"

For the first time that afternoon Skye smiled. Her brother's plaintive question was what she had been waiting for. She didn't want to have to order them about. She wanted them to want her aid. "Well, Shane, I think that you and your brothers should do what you do best, and obviously that is pirating. However, don't pirate the English, for they're not rich enough. The Spanish are."

The Spanish?"

"Aye! You want adventure? Then get yourselves letters of marque from the Queen, and harry the dons along the Spanish Main. You'll rebuild your wealth, and therefore your power base in no time."

"We need no letters of marque from the English," Brian boasted. "We can go on our own."

That's up to you, Brian, but go on your own and you're prey to anyone and everyone. Get caught, and you'll be hung for a common pirate. Carry letters of marque, and you're protected by a powerful queen, and you've powerful allies in every other ship sailing with Bess Tudor's blessing. Should you get caught by the French or the Dutch, you're more apt to be ransomed than hung." She smiled lazily at her eldest brother. "'Tis your decision, of course, Brian. Now get out! I've said all I am going to for now. I will see you later, for I've not come home to go away quickly, little brothers."

The four men shuffled to their feet and clumped from the room, pausing at the door to pull their boots back on before departing. When the door had closed on them at last, Skye moved across the room to settle herself in Adam's lap. "Kiss me," she demanded, and he was happy to comply, covering her mouth with his in a fiery possession that left her breathless. "Hmmmmm," she purred at him, slipping a hand around to caress the back of his neck.

"Do you really want to be quit of them?" he asked her as she sent wonderful little shivers down his spine and he moved a hand around to slip into her silk shirt.

"Yes," she said, and nuzzled him just below his ear.

His hand cupped her breast, the thumb stretching up to tease at the nipple. "What if they don't take your suggestion?"

Skye gently bit on the lobe of Adam's ear, and then blew softly into it. 'They will," she said with certainty, loving the warmth of his hand as he cupped her.

"And then what, little girl?" Adam could feel himself beginning to stir with desire as she nesded provocatively against him, kissing his face and neck with wonderful little kisses.

“Then, my lord, we will be finished with the Tudor Queen- and her court! We shall go home, wherever that may be, and I shall spend my days being a dutiful chatelaine, and my nights being your own personal wanton!" She turned his head with her fingers and kissed him passionately.

The beast within him leapt forth, crushing her within the iron of his arms, meeting her flaming challenge with a fire of his own that burned hot and fierce. He turned her so that she lay helpless within the enchantment of his embrace, her fair breasts half exposed, their little nipples pushing arrogantly forth to taunt him. With a groan of surrender he buried his face in the perfumed softness of her. "Dammit, Skye, I want you! I cannot get enough of you, and 'tis unkind of you to tempt me so now."

Skye laughed, and wiggled from his arms. Walking across the room, she turned the key in the lock of the door, and with an almost impish grin she sauntered back across the room to stand before him. Slowly she drew her silk shirt off and slipped from the half-chemise she wore beneath it, letting them fall to the floor. Adam expelled his breath in a slow hiss of delight at the wonders she displayed to him so proudly. She slid her legged skirt over her hips, and removed the remaining undergarments and stockings, rolling the latter down shapely legs that he had viewed a thousand times before and still found beautiful.

Boldly she moved forward to face him, and began undoing his silk shirt while with eager hands he yanked and pulled at the rest of his clothing, anxious to join her in this natural state. Seating him, Skye removed his boots and pulled off his hose. He was quickly as nude as she, and made no resistance when she led him across the room to lie with her on a sheepskin rug before the warm fire.

They clung together, their bodies touching the length of one another while they kissed, their lips moving softly against each other. He stroked her satiny flesh gently, feeling the desire rise in him as it had the very first time he had touched her, as it always did when they made love. She hovered over him, her breasts brushing his chest as she twined her fingers in and out of the dark mat upon his torso. Her touch incited his passion, and he pulled her against him only to turn her so that now she lay underneath. His lips traveled a tender pathway over her face, pausing at her closed eyelids, her nose, her rose mouth. He kissed a trail down her neck to the throbbing hollow in her throat, and paused there to feel the very blood coursing wildly beneath his lips.

"Sweet Skye, how I love you!" he whispered against her fragrant skin.

"And I love you, my darling husband," came back the breathless reply. "Oh, Adam! I love you so!"

There had never been a moment in time like this, she thought. Oh yes, there had been others to whom she had given her heart and genuinely loved in their time, but none had been like Adam de Marisco. The others had loved her, but there had always been a pride of possession of her in their love. Niall had been her first love; and Khalid the only safe harbor in a frightening and unremembered world. Geoffrey! Ah, for Geoffrey Southwood, the Angel Earl, with his pride and his arrogance, she had been the only woman he had ever really loved. She had loved him too, she thought with a touch of sadness in her heart. Nicolas St. Adrian, her charming Frenchman, had caught her heart when she most needed him. They had all been marvelous, but Adam was different.

Adam de Marisco had always treated her like his equal, and perhaps that was why he was her friend as well as her husband and her lover. He adored her with a mixture of love and amusement and wonder; but he had always respected her intelligence as well. It made him different from the others. He was proud that she was his wife, but his pride stemmed from the fact that he had been fortunate enough to win her. To all the others she had been a possession to be proud of and to be envied. To Adam she was simply sweet Skye, his beloved wife.

As he slowly filled her with his pulsing manhood she opened her sapphire eyes and took his head in her two hands. Turning him so that their eyes met, she held his gaze as he entered her, her eyes growing ever more full of the love she felt for this wonderful man. There were no words spoken between them, for their beating hearts spoke silently for them. With tender passion he moved upon her until finally she could bear the sweetness no longer, and her eyes closed again as a soft cry welled up and burst from her throat.

Adam's own heart was so filled with love for Skye at that moment that he could barely contain his own passions. With wonder he watched her, seeing all the turbulent emotions that played across her beautiful face. Gently he bent his leonine head to kiss her, and tasted the salty tears on her cheeks. That she wept from sheer happiness he understood, yet it moved him just the same.

When moments later she opened her beautiful sapphire eyes again he smiled softly at her, and she smiled back dazzling him with her love for him which shone so clearly in her face.

"How very much I need you, little girl," he whispered to her.

"How very much I need you, my husband," she returned, and then as he moved them so that they lay on their sides she touched his mouth with a delicate kiss. They were still joined in conjugal embrace, but he had wanted to spare her his weight while they loved, for he was not yet ready to spend. In this half-facing position Skye had one leg between his, and one of Adam's legs was between hers. It was an intimate position that allowed them to stroke and caress each other freely. Adam enjoyed taking her sensitive little nipples in his mouth from this posture, and sucking long and lovingly upon them.

She began to feel the flames flickering throughout her body once more as he did this, and she ran her hand down his long back to fondle a taut buttock with teasing fingers. "Witch!" he growled at her, nipping playfully on her sentient flesh and beginning to feel his own hunger rising once more. She bit at his earlobe, and then ran her tongue about the shell of his ear, whispering shamelessly to him how he made her feel at this moment. "Oh, my darling, you're so very big! Why is it I cannot get enough of you, Adam? I love it when you fuck me. Oh darling, don't stop! Please don't stop, my love! Ahh! I could go on forever!"

She was his wife, and yet her bold words roused his lust to a furious pitch. He shuddered with passion and ached with the pleasure possessing her gave him. Once more he towered over her, his great manhood thrusting again and again and again into her excited flesh. He vaguely felt her nails raking down his back; heard her excited panting hot in his ear; felt her body writhing beneath him.

Beginning to slip from reality into the golden world of sensual rapture, Skye had a brief, startling thought. It was with Adam as it had been with Geoffrey! Each time it was better. Each time it was more passionate than the last time. If this was her reward for all she had borne then it had been worth it, for to be loved by such a man was worth anything! Then she was caught up in the whirlwind of passion and, flying high, was lost to everything except their love.

"Ah, sweet Skye, you've unmanned me!" she heard him cry, and collasped upon her breasts. Her arms tightened about him as he whimpered with his own pleasure, and she could not help but kiss his tousled dark head.

They lay together for some minutes, attempting to regain their composure. He finally managed to roll off her, and catching her hand in his, they lay silently side by side. Beneath them the thick sheepskin was soft, and the warm fire crackled merrily, the only witness to their passion. Outside they could hear the soft roar of the rising wind about the stone tower house. Everything else was silence.

He spoke first. "I wish we could stay like this all winter."

She laughed softly. "So do I, but I suspect that Anne will want her rooms back this night. I feel almost guilty thinking on how we have spent this afternoon while Anne has overseen the servants at their cleaning chores."

"If this sheepskin could talk…" he teased her.

"Poor Anne would be shocked. I imagine my father was not a particularly inventive lover. Stamina and vigor were his traits, I have been told. He was a simple man."

"Why didn't she remarry? She was yet a girl when your father died."

"Aye, she was twenty-two to his fifty-eight. She says she didn't remarry because she had the boys to raise, and no dowry. I would have given her a dowry, though; and a good man seeking sons would have been happy to have her to wife, for she was certainly a proven breeder. No, I think she chose not to remarry. She had borne my father four sons in four years, and I think she had no wish to place herself in another man's care. It was far more convenient to deify my father and his memory. Not all women like the marriage bed. I suspect Anne is one of those women. To my knowledge, she has had no lovers since Da died." Skye propped herself up on an elbow and, lowering her head, kissed her husband lingeringly. "I can't imagine not loving you," she said.

He smiled back at her. "I don't ever intend you stop loving me, little girl. It would break my heart if you did," and then his arm came up to draw her down against him.

When they finally heard the knocking on the door both felt silly and foolish. They were behaving like young lovers instead of the adults that they were.

"Skye dear, the hall is cleaned and sweetened, and if you and Adam would care to come forth the servants are waiting for your approval," Anne O'Malley called.

“We'll be there in a moment, Anne," Skye said, her voice quavering with amusement. "Help me to dress, you buffoon!" she hissed at Adam who lay on his back waggling his black, bushy eyebrows at her while she attempted to maintain her composure. They both heard Anne's retreating footsteps.

"Gracious, m'lady, yer gown is all rumbled, and bless me, is this a tear in yer bodice?!" Standing up to his full six feet six inches, Adam successfully mimicked Daisy.

Skye burst out laughing. "You devil!" she scolded him. "Stop teasing me."

His warm laughter rumbled about the room. "Very well, little girl, I'll behave if you'll tell me where we're going to sleep tonight in this ancient pile of stones you call your ancestral home." He picked up her undergarments from the floor, and began handing them to her.

"My old room is at the top of the tower," Skye told him. "I imagine Anne will have it prepared. This is actually the only decent-sized apartment in the whole place, and it was my father's. I am pleased to see Anne did not give it to Brian and his wife."

Adam and Skye redressed as quickly as they could and, leaving Anne O'Malley's rooms, returned to the hall. Skye was delighted, for the room once more looked like the one she remembered. A smile split her face, and seeing it, the servants visibly relaxed. "Anne, you've worked a miracle!"

"No miracle, only proper cleaning, and the return of the pretties with which I once decorated this hall."

Coming in for the evening meal, Skye's brothers were equally pleased, and even Maggie shyly admitted carpets upon the stone floors were nicer than rushes. The meal was a simple one, for Anne did not set an elaborate table. There were mussels boiled in white wine, baby lamb roasted with rosemary, and a bowl of cress. There was fresh bread and a tub of sweet butter, a hard cheese and a dish of apples. The men ate heartily, washing it all down with brown ale. Eibhlin O'Malley had come from her convent on Innishturk to see her sister, and after the meal the four women sat companiona-bly talking about the fire while the men remained at the table drinking and, from the sound of the ribald laughter, telling stories a lady should not hear. Skye could not help but notice how well her brothers got on with Adam, and it gave her great pleasure. The O'Malley brothers might not realize it, but they were taking their first step along the road to tolerance. They had accepted an Englishman into their midst without any trouble at all.

Skye was surprised when Brian came to her amid the chatter of the women, and drew her aside. "My brothers and I have been talking this afternoon about what you said. Do you really think the English Queen would give us letters of marque?"

"Yes, but make no mistake, Brian, 'tis for her good as well as yours."

"Ye mean she'll be getting a share of the booty we capture?"

"Aye, but she'll also be getting the O'Malleys of Innisfana off of her royal neck. If there is one thing Elizabeth Tudor believes in, little brother, it is peace. She wants no wars, for she knows that wars destroy a country's economy.

“There is one other tiling about the Queen, Brian," Skye continued. "You'll have to come with me to England if you're to get your letters of marque."

"Never!" Brian shouted, and everyone in the hall turned to look at him. "I’ll not leave blessed Ireland to set foot in that accursed land!"

"Don't be an ignorant and superstitious fool, Brian!" Skye retorted as quickly. "You'll come with me to England, and present yourself before the Queen. You can't ask Elizabeth Tudor for a favor from afar."

"I’d rather not ask her for anything," Brian grumbled.

"You'll be a rich man in no time, Brian," Skye wheedled him. "You can then afford to build a whole new wing onto the house just for yourself and Maggie and the children. Wouldn't you like that, Maggie?" Skye appealed to her young sister-in-law.

"Aye, I would!" Maggie said bluntly.

"You'd all be rich," Skye promised her half-brothers, "and then you could each build a wing onto the house and marry the lass of your choice, for with gold in your pockets you'd have a choice and be a desirable match to any father's eye. Isn't that better than the cheap chances you take with Grace O'Malley?"

"I’ll not go to England," Brian said firmly.

The Queen won't give you the letters of marque sight unseen," Skye argued.

“I’ll go."

They all turned to look at Skye's youngest brother, Conn. "You'll go?" she said.

"Aye," Conn replied. “I’ve a mind to see England, and the red-haired virgin vixen who rules it. Will I do, Skye?" He grinned engagingly at his sister.

Skye looked him over critically. Conn was the youngest, but he was the biggest, standing almost as tall as Adam. Cleaned up, his beard barbered decently, elegant clothes upon his back, and a quick course in manners, he might very well do. Elizabeth did like clever and attractive young men, and Skye had to admit that Conn was both. "Aye," she said. "You'll do quite well." She looked at Brian and the others. "Do you have any objections to Conn going?"

"Nay," they replied with one voice, all obviously relieved not to have to go themselves.

"It's settled then," Skye said.

"When will you leave?" Brian asked.

"Not for several days," Skye answered him. "I want to see Ewan and Gwyneth and our uncle, the bishop. I'll send a message off tomorrow, however, to tell Bess Tudor that we're corning to pay her a call."

The next morning Skye arose early to write to the Queen.

Madame, My brothers beg your indulgence for the overabundance of high spirits that caused them to foolishly join with our distant cousin, Grace O'Malley. I have suggested that a proper channel for my brothers’ exuberance would be to carry letters of marque from Your Gracious Majesty that would allow them to exercise their energies in foreign waters to both their own and Your Majesty's great advantage. I will shortly be arriving in England with my youngest brother, Conn O'Malley, who will tender a request for Your Majesty's favor on behalf of his brothers and himself I remain as always Your Majesty's friend. Skye, Lady de Marisco

Skye watched dispassionately as the thick green sealing wax dripped onto the folded letter, and she pressed the O'Malley ring of office into the hot puddle before it hardened. The letter was dispatched immediately aboard one of her ships, captained by Bran Kelly. She was relieved to have the letter off, and the matter settled. She walked back into the bedchamber, crawled back beneath the down coverlet, and sighed.

Adam reached out and pulled her into his embrace, his arm cradling her, settling her head against his shoulder. "What is it, little girl?" he asked, kissing the top of her head.

"I find I'm losing my taste for adventure," she said.

He understood her completely. "You've borne a heavy burden all alone, and for a very long time, Skye. 'Tis no wonder you're weary, sweetheart, but will you not rely on me now? Let me shoulder some of the load, or at least help you with it."

"Oh, Adam, how can I involve you in this? You're English."

"English, Irish," he replied. "It matters not, Skye. You are a woman; I, a man. We love each other, and because we do one's problems become the other's. It's really that simple. Your brothers' nationality has nothing to do with their being pigheaded. I’ve known Frenchmen, and Devonmen, and other Englishmen just as stubborn. It's simply their nature, and together you and I will overcome that nature. I am encouraged that Conn desires to see the Tudor court."

"Let's take him back to Lynmouth first," she said. "We'll have to clean him up, and get him outfitted, and teach him how to behave, for I’ll not have the court laughing at him. Like as not, Conn would kill half a dozen men should he feel insulted. I’m not introducing him into Elizabeth Tudor's world to cause havoc and be sneered at as a typical Irisher. I want those letters of marque for the O'Malleys."

"You'll get them, Skye."

"I wish I was as sure as you are, Adam."

Adam chuckled. "If Conn is half the charmer I suspect he is, the Queen will melt. Besides, being a practical woman, she will be relieved to have the O'Malleys of Innisfana off harrying the Spanish instead of the English."

Skye smiled to herself, realizing the simple truth of Adam's words, and she snuggled harder against him. "Then I'll not worry, my husband, and instead I shall concentrate on indulging my baser appetites," she murmured, sliding her hand beneath his nightshirt. With teasing hands she fondled him, caressing and cupping him, and feeling him grow hard beneath her touch.

Adam lay very still, only the sudden quickening of his breath indication at first of her success. He loved the way she touched him with her hot and gentle little hands. In his lifetime he could not remember any woman rousing him as completely and as quickly as Skye could. When she moved herself down to take him in her mouth he groaned with unashamed pleasure at her actions, and fought to maintain his control, for now he desperately desired to possess and be possessed. "Ahh, my Celtic witch, ride me!" he finally begged her, and Skye willingly obeyed her husband's request, lifting her head from his manhood, kissing its throbbing scarlet head, and then mounting him to plunge downward so that he was enclosed by her eager sheath. Reaching up, Adam played gently with her beautiful breasts, tormenting the little nipples so that they thrust and quivered with his touch. Watching her through half-closed eyes, he was amused to find her own eyes closed.

Drawing her closer, he raised his head up and took one of those little peaks into his mouth. Balanced on one elbow, he cupped her breast in his other hand, loving it thoroughly as he did so. His tongue encircled the tautness, warm and so, so soft against her hardness. He sucked and nibbled on her flesh, and Skye gasped with pleasure as small darts of liquid fire raced through her veins, leaving her weak. With a smile of triumph Adam rolled her onto her back, and began thrusting into her honeyed warmth. Skye's nails dug fiercely into his muscled shoulders, but her rounded hips began to thrust back at him. He pushed deeper and deeper into her until she thought he could go no further, but the next thrust penetrated deeper still as she threw her legs up and wrapped them around liim. Now her nails raked down his back, scoring the smooth skin with fine crimson lines. Skye felt she was soaring; soaring higher than she had ever gone before. She felt helpless beneath his strength, and yet she felt stronger than she ever had.

The first wave of passion washed wildly over her, and Adam slowed his movement despite her whimpered protest. He laughed softly, a deep and sensuous sound. "Oh no, little girl, not quite yet. You're a hungry wench, I can see, but I’m of a mind to play with you a bit longer. What you started, sweetheart, I shall finish.'' All the while he spoke he moved slowly upon her. Again he increased the tempo of his erotic rhythm until she was sobbing with pleasure.

The whirling world was filled with a golden light that pulsed and throbbed all about her. His possession filled her with unbelievable peace amidst the turbulence of their passion. He gave so much, and Skye wanted to give back, but the second wave overtook her, and then in quick bursts the third and forth waves overcame her, rendering her almost unconscious, and she cried out. To her surprise, he cried out also, and then she felt his seed filling her full, and his head dropped to her breasts. She could barely catch her breath, but she kissed his head and caressed the back of his neck soothingly. He rolled away from her, and they lay side by side until at last the storm had passed and they drifted into a contented sleep.

When they awoke the morning was well along, and Skye scrambled guiltily from the warmth of their bed. "God's nightshirt!" she swore. "My family will think me a slugabed. 'Tis past nine, I'm certain, and I had planned to visit my Uncle Seamus today. Where in Hell is Daisy with my bath water?" She flung open the bedchamber door and peered into the day room.

"So, ye're up!" Daisy looked somewhat askance at her mistress, and Skye realized she was nude.

"Where's my bath?" she demanded with an effort at nonchalance.

"If I'd fetched it earlier," Daisy replied tartly, "'twould be ice cold at this moment. I'll see to it now, m'lady," and she busded out of the room.

"You've the prettiest bottom I’ve ever seen," Adam teased her.

Skye whirled about, laughing. "Oh, 'tis a bold one you are, my lord husband! It's a good hour's ride to my uncle's house, and I did promise him I'd come whenever I arrived back on Innisfana. 'Tis certain he knows I'm here, and has, I've not a doubt, been waiting for me since dawn. He's an old man, Adam, and frail. I would not disappoint him."

"We'll not disappoint him, little girl, and I intend to ride with you, for I've not met the good bishop. Does he hate the English, too?"

"I’m not sure it's all the English, Adam. Just the ones who happen to gain his disfavor by not agreeing with him," she chuckled, and Adam laughed.

"In other words," he said, "a typical O'Malley."

She launched herself at him, grabbing a large handful of his dark hair and yanking. "Beast! I can see I must teach you to be more respectful of the O'Malleys of Innisfana!"

He wrestled her to the mattress, and then across the bed as they playfully fought and struggled until both collapsed in a fit of laughter. Mischievously he spanked her bottom, eliciting a shriek of outrage from her. "'Twill teach you better manners toward your lord, wench!" he scolded with mock ferocity.

"My lord is a lop-eared ass," she threw back, rubbing her injured flesh.

Adam grabbed Skye and drew her down into a passionate embrace. "My lady is a hot-blooded little bitch who arouses me beyond mortal comprehension," he murmured softly as he began to nibble at her lips.

"Is this bath to get cold too, or will you wash?" came the scathing demand from Daisy.

Skye squirmed from her husband's arms, but their eyes met in total understanding and love. "I’m coming," she said to her tiring woman.

"So am I," Adam said, beginning to rise from the bed. "Get thee hence, Daisy lass, unless you're interested in my bottom and…" He waggled his eyebrows at her threateningly.

"Who's to wash my lady?" Daisy demanded, outraged.

"I will," came Adam's reply.

"More than likely ye'll end up back in that tumbled bed," Daisy grumbled, "but who am I to say. Very well then, I'll give you both fifteen minutes, and as fer being interested, m'lord, there's nothing ye've got I ain't seen before." Then with her nose in the air Daisy flounced out.

Skye giggled at Adam's look of outrage as much as Daisy's tart comment. "Aye, Adam," she further teased her husband, "Daisy's a married woman now, and I've heard it said that Bran Kelly can hold his own with the best of them." Then sticking out her tongue at her husband, Skye scampered from their bedchamber to the day-room, where the tall oak tub had been placed before the fire. Wrinkling her nose with pleasure, she breathed in the rose bath oil already perfuming the room in the tendrils of steam that came from the hot water. Quickly she pinned her hair atop her head. Adam caught up with her as she was about to climb up the three wooden steps that led to the tub, and twirling her about, he kissed her.

"We're never going to get bathed and off to my uncle's," she protested faintly against his mouth, thinking how good it felt to be enclosed in his arms.

"Yes, we will," he said, and lifted her into the tub before climbing in to join her. "Good God! I'm going to smell like a damned garden, madam!"

"'Twas your idea to bathe with me," she pointed out.

"Aye," he grumbled, "but I can imagine what your brothers will think if they get a whiff of me."

"Our delay in getting up, plus Daisy's gossiping should reassure them on all counts," Skye laughed. "Come now, m'lord, you promised to maid me." She handed him her soap. "Wash my back!"

"Only if I can wash your front as well," he countered.

"Adam!”

He turned her around and began soaping her long back. "You were more fun when you were my sometime mistress," he teased, chuckling at her gasp of outrage. "Aye," he murmured, kissing the tempting back of her neck, "being a wife has sobered you greatly, little girl." He turned her around, kissed her on the nose, and, handing her the soap, said, "Now you wash my back, madam."

"Only if I can wash the front, too," she mocked him.

"If you dare, little girl," he said.

"What will my uncle think of you, Adam de Marisco?" she lamented.

The old bishop of Mid-Connaught thought very well of his favorite niece's new husband. They had never met face to face, but Seamus O'Malley felt he knew Adam de Marisco from all the things that Skye had said of him over the years; from his reputation as the lord of Lundy Isle; and from the letters they had exchanged, letters that usually had to do with Skye and her well-being. Seamus O'Malley knew that Adam loved his niece, and the old man understood that love was what she needed most of all. The love of a strong and good man; a man who would stand tall and prevent Skye from pursuing any future reckless course.

Seamus O'Malley was in his middle seventies, and he had not been a well man for two years now. Because of his destruction of Burke Castle there was a price on his head; a price no one had dared to collect yet. Still, the fact of it filled his life with a tension that had not been there before. In the last six months his health had deteriorated greatly, and he had not left Innisfana Island to care for the spiritual well-being of his people. He lived in a big stone house on the cliffs overlooking the sea, but despite his illnesses, he yet said the early mass in the nearby village church each morning.

It was midday when Skye and Adam arrived to see him. The door to the house was opened by Maeve, the wife of Connor FitzBurke, Niall Burke's bastard brother. When they had been driven from Burke lands, the FitzBurkes had come with the elderly bishop, to care for him. The two women embraced warmly, and Maeve FitzBurke stepped back to hold Skye at arm's length. She was a small, pretty woman with warm, brown eyes and reddish hair.

"How is it possible?'' she said. "You're as beautiful as ever! D'ye never age, Skye O'Malley?"

"Look closely, Maeve, and you'll see the lines," Skye laughed. Then she drew Adam forward. 'This is my husband, Lord de Marisco, Maeve."

Maeve smiled warmly. "I'd heard ye were a big man," she said. "Come in then for he's been waiting impatiently for ye to arrive since after mass."

"Where is Connor?" Skye asked as they entered the house.

"Off seeing to the sheep and cattle that His Grace keeps these days," was the reply as Maeve led them up a staircase. "Don't be too shocked, Skye. Yer uncle is an old man, and it broke his heart when the English Queen took Burke Castle from little Lord Burke. He's failed over the last few months, and he's not strong. He feels the cold greatly this autumn, and I doubt he'll live to see the spring."

Skye felt unbidden tears pricking at her eyes, and she stopped a moment to regain her control. Maeve seemed to know, and paused before the paneled oak door, her hand upon the latch. "I’m all right now," Skye said softly, and Adam reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Maeve swung the door wide, saying as she entered the room, "Well, my lord Bishop, and here she is at last!"

The old gentleman in the plaid woolen shawl by the fireplace looked up, and Skye ran toward him to kneel at his side and kiss his gnarled hand with its heavy gold ring of office. "So, lass!" His body might be frail, but Seamus O'Malley's voice was as strong as ever. "Get up, Skye, and let me look at ye! At least my eyes are still sharp. Ye're as fair as ever, lass. I remember when ye were born, and Dubhdara was so disappointed ye weren't a lad, but ye were a beauty even then and immediately stole his heart." He paused a moment, "Even as ye stole mine, too."

Skye bent and kissed him on the forehead. "Dearest Uncle," she murmured.

"Now dammit, lass, don't be going sentimental on me," he grumbled. "Introduce me to this giant I suspect is yer husband." He thrust his hand forward for Adam to kiss.

"Indeed, Uncle, this is Adam de Marisco, my husband," Skye said.

As Adam made his obeisance to the bishop, Seamus O'Malley grinned, and said, "Aye, he's just right for ye, Skye. Worships the ground ye walk on, I can see, and spoils ye shamelessly. Still I see enough strength in him that ye'd best beware of driving him too far lest he beat ye, as ye no doubt deserve on occasion. Sit down, nephew! Ye're as tall as a tree, and I prefer to speak to ye face to face, not face to codpiece!" He cackled at his own wit, then commanded, "Maeve! Bring some whiskey, for I'm fair chilled. 'Tis a bitter day, a bitter day."

They drew up chairs, and sat facing the old man. Almost at once he engaged Adam in a lively conversation. Skye was content to sit back watching the men she loved, and swirling the amber fire called whiskey around in her goblet. Her eyes devoured her uncle lovingly. He had grown old in the several years since she had seen him. His hair was now snow white, though once it had been as black as hers. His eyes, however, were still bright blue, and lively with interest in the world about him. He was thin, and his bony hands trembled with the effort of holding his glass. How he conducted the daily mass she did not understand, except that he obviously put all his strength into it and then spent the rest of his time resting from the effort.

"Skye?" His voice penetrated her thoughts.

"Aye, Uncle?"

"I’m sorry about Burke Castle. Will the Queen return Padraic's lands?"

"Nay, Uncle. She gave him lands in England. She said he'd be raised as a good Englishman, and 'twould be one less Irish rebel for her to worry about."

Seamus O'Malley nodded and smiled slightly. Although he saw the humor in it he also saw the wisdom in it. "Ye've few ties left in Ireland, lass."

"I’m still the O'Malley, Uncle."

"For how long, lass? 'Tis not fair ye retain the office now that Dubhdara's sons are grown."

"Grown into selfish fools, Uncle!" Skye snapped. "I’d be doing Da a disservice to make Brian the O'Malley right now. All he wants to do is pirate with our cousin Grace. He cares nothing about building our wealth. All he wants to do is waste it!"

"What will ye do then, lass?"

"I’ve suggested if he wants to go pirating with his brothers that they obtain letters of marque from the Queen, and pirate the Spanish Main rather than English shipping. That way, they can keep on the good side of the Queen without really serving her, and fill their own coffers with good gold at the same time. Brian agreed, and Conn is to come to England with me to speak with the Queen. If Brian and the others will keep out of trouble in the next year, I’ll turn over my badge of office to him, and consider my duty to the O'Malleys done."

'"Tis fair," the bishop agreed.

"I don't want the power any longer, Uncle," Skye said. "I've had it all my life, it seems, and I'm tired. My children have grown up barely knowing me, but I’ll not let my youngest, Velvet, be without me after this. I've a home in France, and the Queen has promised us estates to make up for Lundy."

"The restlessness is gone then, lass?"

"Aye," she said. "I seek peace now, Uncle, and I know that it lies with Adam and our daughter, and my other children."

Seamus O'Malley nodded. "Yer father, God assoil him, was like that when he married Anne. He never wanted to go far after that. Ye've already found yer peace, Skye lass, and I'll not tell ye to be a good and faithful wife to Adam, for I can see that ye already are. It makes me happy to see it, for if things are right with ye, then I can rest easy and face my brother with a clear conscience."

Skye rose from her chair and, bending down, kissed her aged uncle, hugging him hard. "Seamus O'Malley, I love you!" she said.

The old man smiled over her shoulder at Adam, and hugged her back. "Whist, lass! Next ye'll be weeping all over me!" he scolded her lovingly, but his expression was one of pleased delight at her open show of affection.

They stayed the entire day, and overnight as well. It was a happy time for them all. In the morning when they were ready to leave Skye hurried to her uncle's rooms to bid him farewell, Adam following. Seamus O'Malley sat by the fire once more, his head upon his narrow chest, his hands resting quietly in his lap. The fire crackled noisily, but it seemed not to disturb him. Skye smiled down on him, and called softly, "Uncle, I must go now." There was no answer. "Uncle?" She reached out to gently shake him, and he was cold to her touch. Skye's hand flew to her mouth. "Adam!”

Adam de Marisco knelt to inspect the old man. When he rose there were tears in his eyes. "He's dead, Skye," the lord of Lundy told his wife, and then gathered her into his arms while she wept stormily.

The Bishop of Mid-Connaught, Seamus O'Malley, was buried on his favorite niece's thirty-fourth birthday. He had been waked for five long days, for it had taken that long to gather all of Skye's brothers and sisters and their families on Innisfana. Looking around at Skye's sisters, Moire, Peigi, Bride, and Sine, Adam was startled by their plainness in comparison with his wife's beauty. He had never noticed that plainness in Eibhlin, for the nun was so full of life and her work. The others, however, were prim women who openly disapproved of their youngest sister's liaison with an Englishman. Only the fact that Adam de Marisco shared their faith made him barely tolerable to them. Hearing their tales of their struggles with the English, he could understand their bitterness. They were old before their time with childbearing and the harshness of the land in which they lived. None had attained either the wealth or the fine matches that their youngest sister had. They had come with their husbands, bluff, red-faced men, none of whom could speak the English tongue. Adam, fortunately, knew enough Gaelic to converse briefly with them; and it was decided among Skye's brothers-in-law that if her English husband could speak the Gaelic, he mightn't be too bad a fellow. It was also noted with approval that he could hold his whiskey, and seemed to have firm control of his wife, who was thought to be too forward for a woman.

Michael O'Malley said the mass for his uncle, and afterward the coffin was carried to the family burial ground by the bishop's four younger nephews, his great-nephew, Ewan O’Flaherty, and Connor Fitzburke. In the hall afterward, Moire said what they were all thinking.

"'Twas our last link with the past and Da. Now 'tis gone."

"We'll always have the memories," Sine said hopefully.

"Pah!" Peigi said sharply. "The age has ended, and that's all there is to it!"

"Uncle Seamus was the one thing that kept this family close, and together," Bride volunteered. "Now, I suppose we'll all go our own ways."

"We've been doing that for years," Moire replied.

"'Tis the way of it," Eibhlin said quietly. "All families scatter at one point in time. Especially the daughters, and God knows Da had his share of daughters."

"We've made Da proud," Moire said, "at least some of us have. I've borne eighteen children, thirteen of whom lived. Peigi has twelve living, Bride nine, and Sine eleven. Even you, barren stock though you chose to be, would have made him proud with yer medicines and piety." Moire looked around at her siblings. "Aye, Da would be proud of some of us."

"Da would be proud of me also, Moire," Skye said quietly. "You've been most obvious in leaving me out, but let me tell you that I've done just what he would have wanted me to over the years, and I've borne eight children as well. I've overseen three estates for my children as well as great wealth, and I've done well, Moire, by the O'Malleys!"

"Ye lost the Burke lands with yer carryings on!" Moire snapped.

"I lost the Burke lands because I was married in France without the Queen's blessing," Skye retorted angrily. "The Queen broke her word to me, for we made a bargain and I kept my part of that bargain. Had I returned to England without a husband Elizabeth Tudor would have used me again, and I will never be used again by anyone, Moire! What in Hell could you possibly know about it, living in a backwater manor house in an out-of-the-way village in Ireland?"

"Brian tells me that ye've advised him and our brothers to go into service with the English Queen."

"Nay! I've advised them to obtain letters of marque from her and to go plundering along the Spanish Main. 'Twill keep them out of trouble here in Ireland, and fill our coffers as well, Moire. Should they keep on the way they're going, they'll lose everything, and Da wouldn't want that."

“The Spanish are our friends," Moire protested. "We share the same faith!"

"Spare me your religious qualms, Moire," Skye replied impatiently. 'The Spanish use us the same way the French use the Scots. 'Tis to their own advantage. Religion plays no part in it. If the Spanish occasionally give the Irish arms 'tis only so they'll harry the English, which is to Spain's interest and certainly not Ireland's. Do the English punish the Spanish? Nay! Rather they come with a vengeance to us, and 'tis Irish blood that flows in the streets, and Irish women who weep tears of pain and shame, and Irish children who starve for lack of their fathers to feed and defend them. Our friends never suffer; rather we, the Irish, do, and 'tis our own fault! We will not unite beneath one banner, and until we do there will be no peace or real freedom in Ireland!"

"Ye were always different," Moire countered, and then she spoke no more on it.

The next morning Skye's sisters and their families departed for their own homes, bidding their youngest sister farewell with little warmth. The years had treated them quite differently, and sadly, Skye was as much a stranger to them as a woman taken in from the streets would have been. She understood them all too well, for her life experience had been broad. They understood her not at all, for their experience had been narrow. Still she kissed them and bid them God speed.

"Good riddance!" Eibhlin muttered as the last of them rode off down the road, and Skye laughed, tucking her hand through her favorite sister's arm as they walked back into the hall.

"Why is it that you understand and they don't?" she asked.

"Because they are more cloistered in their lives than I, despite my religious calling, have ever been. My medicine has allowed me to see more of the human condition and the world than they have. Besides they have always been jealous of your beauty, Skye, as well as your husbands. Think on it, sister. For thirty-one years Moire has been humped by but one man, and from her sour face I wager he scarce comes near her anymore. And I've always suspected that she says the rosary while he is atop her. I'll wager you don't say yer rosary while Adam makes love to you!"

"Eibhlin!" Skye blushed rosily, and Adam, overhearing his sister-in-law's wry remarks, roared with laughter.

"Nay, Eibhlin, she says not her rosary, for I keep her far too busy saying other things!"

"You're shameless!" Skye cried, "and 'tis worse with you, Eibhlin, for you're a nun!"

“True," her older sister agreed, "but I'm also a woman." Then she changed the subject. "What think ye of Mistress Gwenyth?"

“That I’m overyoung to be a grandmother," Skye laughed. "Isn't it wonderful, Eibhlin! You'll be with her when her time comes, won't you?"

"Aye, Skye, I will, and believe me, Ballyhennessey is a far better place today in which to have a child than it was when you birthed Ewan and Murrough. I'll not forget the snow drifting across the floor while I tried to keep you and the baby warm."

"Ewan is nothing like his father," Skye replied. "Neither, thank God, is Murrough! They're my sons, and they are good boys."

"Tell me of my newest niece?" Eibhlin said.

Skye looked at Adam, and they smiled. "Velvet's an impossible baggage, Eibhlin, but we love her dearly!"

"In other words," Eibhlin chuckled, "she is her parents' child."

"Aye!" they both replied with one voice, and then laughed.

"When will you return to England, for I imagine you are anxious to be with your child."

"We sail tomorrow, Eibhlin. Brian has promised me he will immediately disassociate himself and the O'Malleys of Innisfana from Grace O'Malley and her pirates. 'Tis easily done right now, for the winter is upon us and they'll be no more ships to chase until spring. By then I hope to have the letters of marque for the O'Malleys, and they can sail west to play havoc with the Spanish in the New World."

Eibhlin nodded with approval. "Ye've saved those four dolts, though they know it not. If they'd continued on their merry course, they'd have ended up on the gallows for sure, and then ye'd never be free of the O'Malleys. Give Brian the office as soon as you reasonably can, Skye. 'Tis past time ye had yer own fife."

Adam silently agreed with Eibhlin O'Malley, and he was not sorry the following day to bid farewell to Brian, Shane, and Shamus O'Malley, and their mother. Anne, of course, was worried for her youngest, Conn, who was to sail with them, but Adam saw that the young man was anxious to free himself of both his mother and his three older brothers. Secretly Adam wondered if his youngest brother-in-law would ever go privateering in the New World. From Conn O'Malley's questions about Skye's trading business, Adam suspected he'd not.

They reached Devon several days later, anchoring in the harbor of Lynmouth Castle, and then rowing ashore. Daisy hurried to her cottage to see her small sons, while Skye sent out messengers to Dame Cecily at Wren Court and to the Queen saying that she had returned and would be keeping Christmas at Greenwich with her Majesty. Then she put her mind to the task of turning her brother into a gentleman worthy of the Tudor court.

Conn roared like a lion as his shaggy hair was shorn from his head, and his thick bushy beard cropped neady. He howled like a banshee to find himself in a steaming tub that smelt of lavender while his own sister, her sleeves rolled above her elbow, plied the scrubbing brush herself.

"Ye're killing me!" he yelled in Gaelic as she scrubbed his newly barbered hair.

"Speak English, you clod!" she roared back at him. "You'll be laughed right out of the damned English court unless you do!"

“To Hell with the English!"

"My sentiments, too," Skye laughed, "but you need the bastards, Conn! Besides, the court is filled with pretty girls just dying to meet a big, handsome man like yourself. If you don't speak their language, how will you communicate with them?"

"I've not done so bad to date, sister," he replied.

"With the serving girls?" she mocked him. "Haven't you ever learned the difference between a lady and a wench, little brother? You'd best if you're to be a success at court, and you'd better be a success at court, Conn. Your brothers need those letters of marque."

Conn O'Malley put his mind to becoming a gentleman. He was nineteen years old, and stood several inches over six feet in height. Like his sister, he was fair with midnight-black hair. A recalcitrant lock tumbled over his brow, giving him a look both innocent and rakish. Of all the O'Malleys he was the only one whose eyes were neither gray nor bright blue. His, instead, were a grayish green. He was an enormously handsome man with a straight nose, high forehead, and square, chiseled jaw.

He looked marvelous in decently tailored clothing, having long, elegant legs, narrow hips, slim waist, and a broad chest and shoulders. Seeing him suitably garbed a week after they had arrived, Adam swore softly, saying, "By God, the women will be throwing themselves at his feet. We'll have to fight every father and husband at court, Skye." Conn grinned back engagingly with a flash of white, white teeth. "I promise not to be too hard a man on all the little darlin's, Adam," he said.

"God help us," Adam muttered.

Conn was quick, and he easily learned all that Skye and Adam could teach him. Dame Cecily worked with him too, drilling him in his speech so that by the time they were ready to depart for Greenwich, Conn spoke English fluently, albeit with a soft trace of a brogue. It only added to his charm.

They departed for London several days before Christmas, and riding within the coach with Skye and Adam, Conn O'Malley could scarce be pulled away from the windows. His young eyes devoured the passing countryside with its neat farms and orchards and houses. The same eyes widened as they passed through the towns with their bustling shops and open markets and four-story houses. He had never in his young life seen the like of it, and he was fascinated by it all. He asked questions unceasingly, and Skye suddenly realized how different this last child of her father's was from his siblings. He was, she decided, more like herself and Eibhlin than any of the others. She could just imagine Brian seated in Conn's place, a dour face on him, grumbling the entire way. Skye was rather happy to get to know Conn better, and she found that she liked him.

"Look, Conn!" Leaning out the coach window, Skye pointed. "London!"

Conn O'Malley's jaw dropped in honest surprise as the city came into his view. The churches were enormous with spires that soared skyward as high as the mountains in his homeland. The houses were all jammed in together along with the shops, and there were more people than he'd ever seen in one place at one time. The noise was ferocious, but it was the stink of the streets that surprised him more than anything else.

"'Tis worse than an unshoveled cow byre," he said.

Adam laughed. "In a sense that's exactly what it is, Conn. The sanitation isn't the best in London. You'd best be careful when walking the streets lest you get the contents of a slop jar poured over you. Should you hear the cry of " ‘Ware!’ get out of the way, lad!"

"Where are we going?" Conn asked his sister. Not realizing the size of London, he hadn't thought of where they might stay, assuming it would be another of the comfortable inns they had stopped at along the way. Now he wasn't quite so sure.

"I have a house in a small village just bordering the city, called Chiswick on the Strand. The house is on the river, and within easy barge ride of Greenwich. Your nephew, the Earl of Lynmouth, has a house next door to mine. His is very grand, but mine is quite simple. You'll be comfortable there, brother."

Conn O'Malley's eyes widened again as the coach trotted smartly through the gates at Greenwood. A small man holding the gates open doffed his cap respectfully, and an equally small lady with a smiling face curtseyed from the gatehouse door. Skye waved gaily at both of them. "'Tis Bates and his wife," she said to her brother. Conn sat still and silently. The coach made its way through the beautifully landscaped park and up the curving drive to the house. Skye's brother took in the lovely house of mellowed pink brick, partly covered in shiny green ivy.

Before the house now stood several men in green-and-white livery, who hurried to open the carriage door, take down the steps, and help the occupants forth. As they entered the house a slightly more elegant liveried man hurried forward, saying, "Welcome home, m'lady!"

"Thank you, Walters," Skye replied. 'This is my youngest brother, Master Conn O'Malley. He's come to court."

"Welcome, sir," was Walters's reply. Then he turned back to Skye and Adam. "A message came for you from Greenwich with Lord Burghley's man. It was verbal, and I was asked to repeat it to you. You are to let Lord Burghley know as soon as you arrive in London. He will inform Her Majesty, and a date will be set for you to be received at Greenwich."

"Send someone at once," Adam instructed. "I’ve not a doubt the Queen is anxious to see us."

"Very good, m'lord."

Skye moved up the main staircase of her house to the library, her husband and her brother following. Behind them the baggage was being brought in, and Daisy busily directed the footmen with each piece. Velvet, in the arms of her nurse, Nora, a younger cousin of Daisy's, was carried up to her nursery to be put to bed. As Nora hurried past Conn, he stopped her long enough to place a soft kiss upon his niece's head.

"Good night, kitten," he said softly. "Have happy dreams."

"You spoil her," Skye noted, but she was pleased that Conn had developed such a deep affection for her little daughter, an affection that was quite mutual, for Velvet adored her handsome uncle. Velvet, her mother thought, liked all the gentlemen, and Lord knew the men were easily enamored of her child.

"You're smiling," Adam said as he poured them each a goblet of red wine.

"I’m thinking that Velvet already knows her powers with regard to the gentlemen," Skye replied.

"Aye," Conn grinned. "She's a proper minx, Velvet is. She's but nineteen months old, but I’ve no doubt ye'd best find her a husband early. With luck ye might turn her into a well-brought-up little lady, but I doubt it!" he chuckled, and then he sat down by the fire opposite his sister.

"We have more important things to think on now," Skye said. "I’ve turned you into the perfect courtier, Conn, provided you don't lose your fine Irish temper and spoil it. There are plenty of Irish at court who are civilized, despite what some of the greater snobs will say. Don't let those idiots make you ruin your reputation, brother. The worst of them are the least among the English, and they only naggle at us in order to bolster their own puny egos. If you don't let them get to you, they will soon grow tired of their silly game and devour each other."

"Don't they know that while their ancestors were still painting themselves blue for battle, and living in tree shelters, we Irish had universities and great poets?" Conn demanded irritably.

"No, Conn darlin', they don't know. They believe that the sun rises and sets on England, and nothing you can say will alter their ignorance. Don't even try, Conn. You need only have faith in yourself to succeed. If you do, none of the stupid insults thrown at you will matter. Remember what Da always taught me. The survival of the family is paramount, Conn. Nothing else matters."

"Do you think the Queen will see us fairly soon?"

"Oh, yes! Elizabeth Tudor will be curious to meet you. Oh, Conn, you've such an advantage! You're young, handsome, clever, well mannered, and fairly well educated. In short, just the kind of young man the Queen adores. Use that advantage. Pay her court. Flirt with her. Remember, though, that 'tis only a game with the Queen. You will be a success, I promise you, and then you will get the letters of marque that the O'Malleys need."

"Is she attractive? I mean, really? I know that all the gossips praise her, but what is she really like, Skye?"

"She'll be forty this year, Conn. She's old enough to be your mother, but she's a handsome woman. She has marvelous white, white skin, and golden red hair. Her eyes are a gray-black and they see everything. She is very educated, and enjoys quick repartee. She's a brilliant and clever woman. She likes to dance, so there you'll shine. You'll like her, but beware, little brother. She can be stronger and harsher than any man I've ever met if the occasion warrants it."

"You intrigue me, sister," Conn replied. "I am more anxious than ever now to meet this paragon of womanhood."

Conn O'Malley arrived at court two days before Christmas of 1574. He wore dark green velvet, and his trunk hose was striped in green velvet and gold silk. His doublet was embroidered with gold threads, pearls, turquoises, and small diamonds in a seascape pattern. The buttons on the doublet were gold, and at the wrists and neck of the garment the finest lace showed. He wore a short Spanish cape lined in beaver with a half-erect collar lined in cloth of gold. On his feet he wore tight-fitting leather boots with cuffs that turned upward, and about his neck was a heavy gold chain and a red-gold medallion with the O'Malley sea dragon carved upon it, its ruby eyes most real.

At the last moment Skye had convinced her brother to shave his beard and mustache off entirely, and, as she had suspected, beneath the black hair there was an outrageously handsome face.

"God's blood," Adam swore, looking at the younger man. "You could be your sister's twin!"

"Considering I'm fifteen years older than he is that's quite a compliment, my darling," Skye laughed, "but I knew there was a handsome devil lurking beneath all that growth. Dear Lord, Conn, the women will be throwing themselves at you. You'll have your pick of the entire court!"

"Poor lasses," Conn mourned with a long face. "'Tis only Bess Tudor I’ll court."

Both Skye and Adam laughed, and then leading the way, they left the house. Embarking upon their barge, they moved downriver to Greenwich. Adam sat silent watching the landscape go by as Skye instructed her brother in last-minute details. God, how beautiful she was, Adam thought as he watched her. She was dressed in crimson velvet, her cloak lined and edged in ermine, her jewels- rubies and diamonds-sparkling in the torchlight. She carried an ermine muff embroidered with diamonds and pearls, and framed within the hood of the cloak, her face was radiant. She scented victory, he thought, and he was glad. Once this matter of the O'Malleys was settled, he intended to take her away and never again share her with anyone but their large and loving family.

The towers of Greenwich Palace came into view, and Adam reached out to take his wife's small hand in his own big one. She never turned her head, but she squeezed him, and he squeezed back. The barge took its place in the line of barges heading for the royal landing.

"Skye! Oh, Skye!" A lovely red-haired woman in the barge ahead of them waved her lace handkerchief frantically.

Skye nodded an acknowledgment as Conn noted, "A prime piece of goods, sister. You will introduce me?"

"To Lettice Knollys? She's the Countess of Essex, Conn, and much too rich for your blood. Besides, I suspect she is involved with Lord Dudley, though if the Queen knew it she'd have her cousin Lettice's pretty head."

"Behind us," Conn said. "Who is that overly fashionable gentleman?"

"Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford. He's Burghley's son-in-law, though he's a bad one, I'm told."

Their barge bumped the landing, and the Queen's footmen made it fast so its occupants might disembark. They stood a moment upon the quai landing, Skye shaking her skirts to be sure all the wrinkles were out when Lettice Knollys approached them.

"Skye darling! You're back! Who are these two handsome gentlemen escorting you?" she demanded playfully.

"Lettice, my husband, Adam, Lord de Marisco." Adam smiled, and kissed the Countess of Essex's beringed hand while she assessed him with frankly admiring eyes. "And my youngest brother, Conn O'Malley. Conn, this is the Countess of Essex."

Conn slowly lifted Lettice's hand up to his lips while his gray-green eyes caught her amber ones in a passionate gaze. With equal slowness he pressed a long, warm kiss upon the milk-white back of her hand. "Madam," he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "I have been told you are but a pale imitation of your cousin, the Queen, but the beauty I see before me blinds me."

The Countess of Essex was stunned by this incredible compliment, and for a moment she could not draw her breath. She felt nearer to fainting than she had ever been in her entire life.

A slow smile lit Conn O'Malley's face, turning up the corners of his sensuous mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. Firmly he tucked Lettice Knollys's hand into his arm. "Allow me to escort you into the palace, madam," he said smoothly, and then moved off at a sedate pace, taking the still stunned countess with him.

Skye bit her lip to keep back the laughter, and didn't even dare to look at her husband whom, she guessed, was in the same state of amusement as she. Quietly she took Adam's arm and allowed him to lead her away. When she beheved she had regained her control she said softly, "Conn has made an important first conquest. I only pray that Dudley doesn't see him hovering over Lettice like a bee over a particularly fragrant flower."

"Dudley doesn't dare to publicly lust after Lettice," Adam replied. "He'll find himself in the Tower again if he does. No, I think if Conn manages to be discreet it will be all right."

They had no sooner entered the palace when Lord Burghleys secretary was at their side, begging them to please follow him. Skye detached her brother from Lettice Knollys and drew him off with them.

"So, madam, you have returned," Cecil greeted them as they entered his cabinet. "I hope the news you bring Her Majesty is good news."

"It may be, Lord Burghley," Skye replied.

"May be? Come, madam, I will accept nothing but success!"

"You may have it, my lord, but only in exchange for something of equal value."

"What, maaam?! We have already given you lands for your son, Lord Burke, recognized your marriage to Lord de Marisco, returned Lundy Isle to him, and presented him with lands in Worcestershire with a fine manor house. The Queen has graciously consented to the marriage of your daughter, Willow Small, with the Earl of Alcester. What more could you possibly want?"

"Everything you have said is true, my lord Burghley, but please to note that all that the Queen has given has been for others; for my husband and my children, but there is nothing for me. What I want is very little, but it is for the O'Malleys. My lord, allow me to present to you my youngest brother, Conn O'Malley. Conn, this is William Cecil, Lord Burghley, the Queen's Secretary of State."

Conn made a respectful bow to Cecil, instinctively understanding that this was a man he could not play with but must be totally honest toward. The Queen's secretary looked the young man over carefully, and then said, "He looks like an O'Malley, that is for certain." Then he smiled a small, sour smile. "Well, young Master O'Malley, what is it the O'Malleys desire from the Queen?"

"Letters of marque, my lord. We are the finest sailors alive, we O'Malleys, and 'tis only natural that we harass our natural enemies, the English. My sister, Lady de Marisco, however, has assured me of our demise should we not cease our boyish activities, and so she suggested we channel our energies into a little privateering in the New World. We might simply go, but we feel we'll be safer sailing under the Queen's flag. And," here he grinned broadly, "a great deal more successful, too!"

William Cecil's eyes never betrayed his thoughts, but once more he was admiring of Skye. He had wondered how she would stop her now grown brothers from their rebellious activities against England. Once again she had been extremely clever. If only she were a man, he thought. He could have used that intelligence of hers for England's good. Of course, they would give the O'Malley brothers the letters of marque, but 'twas best to keep them on tenterhooks for a bit.

"I shall have to speak to the Queen about this, Master O'Malley," he said. "You are asking for something of great value from England."

"I offer England something of equal value," Conn replied pleasantly, but Burghley saw the hard look that had come into his eyes. The boy might be young, but he was his sister's brother, Lord Burghley had not a doubt.

"We shall see, we shall see," he murmured, and then turned back to Adam and Skye. "Lord de Marisco, I have here from the Queen the papers that will make you the new resident of Queen's Malvern, a royal estate outside of Worcester. Her Majesty understands that it will not make up for your beloved Lundy, but she knows you understand her reasons for forbidding you residence on your island."

Adam nodded. "I understand, but please tell Her Majesty that anyplace Skye and I are together is home for me. I will thank Her Majesty myself this evening for her generosity."

"Ah, yes, the Christmas revels," Burghley said. "Go and enjoy yourselves. I am happy to tell you that your children do quite well here at court. The Queen is most pleased with Mistress Willow, whom she is constantly holding up as a model of all the feminine virtues."

"Poor Willow!" Skye said without thinking. "How hard that must be on her."

"On the contrary, madam. She is much envied by her peers, yet at the same time both admired and loved by them. A fine young woman, madam! A fine young woman!"

"Meaning, my lord, that you wonder how I could have ever raised such a dutiful daughter," Skye gently teased Cecil.

The Secretary of State was not beyond humor, and he chuckled with dry mirth. "Quite so, madam. Quite so!"

"Be patient, my lord, I have two others. One should hopefully prove to be more like her mother."

"We can but wait, madam," he replied.

Skye swept Cecil a generous curtsey, dipping low enough to offer him a fine view of her bosom which, she noted, he was not loath to admire, for all his talk of virtue. Men, she thought, were ever thus. "I shall save a dance for you, m'lord," she said mischievously, and then taking her husband's arm, Skye, Adam, and Conn exited the room.

The Queen was sitting down to dinner in the banqueting hall, and though it was crowded, they quickly found places with Lettice Knollys, who couldn't wait to make room for Conn O'Malley.

"D'you think she'll devour him whole?" Skye whispered to Adam.

"Nay, Lettice may be greedy, but she's wise. She'll eat Conn up in little bites," he chuckled.

The hall was decorated with garlands of greenery, the fireplaces banked above with masses of pine and holly that gave the room an unusually fragrant scent. The tables were laid with white damask linen cloths, and by each place was that rarity invented in Florence only a few years before, the fork. It was gold as were the spoons and graceful knives with their Sheffield blades. The plates used to set Her Majesty's table were silver, as were the goblets, each one engraved with Elizabeth Tudor's own crest. Conn never batted an eye. His sister had taught him to use forks, explaining that the high nobility, and royalty in particular, no longer liked to see daggers at their tables. There was always the chance that the dagger could be turned on one's own self or one's guests instead of the meat.

A servant hurried up to fill his goblet with a heady red wine. Conn raised the goblet, sniffed appreciatively, and took a healthy draught. Skye had warned him not to swill his wine lest his manners be considered boorish, for the Queen prized exquisite manners. The food was bounteous, including shellfish and every other kind of fish he'd ever heard of; poultry and game birds; beef, lamb, boar, ham, venison, pies with flaky crusts containing lark, sparrow, and rabbit, bowls of carrots and cabbage, artichokes in wine, cress, breads and tubs of butter. He was unable to resist such delights, but although he ate heartily, he ate with delicacy.

"I like a man who enjoys his food," Lettice murmured, and her hand strayed beneath the cloth to squeeze his thigh.

"One healthy appetite is merely indication of another," he grinned lazily at her.

"Meet me after the banquet," Lettice suggested eagerly.

"Madam, you tempt me sorely," Conn replied with honest regret in both his gray-green eyes and on his handsome face, "but you must remember that I need your royal cousin's favor. Were we caught, my fortunes would be destroyed. Surely you wouldn't want that?"

Lettice pouted. "You men newly come to court are all so serious in your intent to please Bess."

"She is the sun which rises and sets upon our world, my beauty."

"My God," Lettice said drily, "with a silver tongue like yours, Conn O'Malley, you'll have Bess behaving like a schoolgirl!"

"I can only hope," Conn murmured softly, and Lettice Knollys laughed in genuine amusement.

“Tell me, Conn O'Malley," she asked, "do you make love as well as you talk?"

"Better!" he grinned, "for it takes me less effort and thought."

Lettice Knollys's amber eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Methinks you know well the ways of a man and woman, Conn O'Malley, but I suspect that you need some schooling in the refinements. Come and see me when you've gotten what you want from my cousin, the Queen. It would be my pleasure to instruct you thoroughly in les arts d'amour."

"M'lady will never have a more willing pupil, I can assure you," Conn proclaimed, and then he let his eyes drop to her bosom. Slowly he feasted himself upon the lush display of ripe flesh, and then taking her hand, he kissed the palm and the pulse.

Lettice shivered with delight. "Devil!" she hissed.

"Conn!" Skye pulled her brother away from his amorous dalliance. "The Queen has finished eating, and 'tis time for us to present ourselves."

Elizabeth Tudor had indeed finished her meal, and left the table to sit in a comfortable chair that gave her a full view of the room. In the minstrels' gallery above, the musicians were beginning to tune their instruments, and many of the guests had also left the tables to stroll about the floor greeting each other while the servants cleared the tables and moved them away.

Lord and Lady de Marisco, Conn O'Malley safely in tow, moved across the floor and stood before Elizabeth Tudor, awaiting her acknowledgment. The Queen did not keep them standing long. With a quick word to the courtier to whom she had been speaking, she turned and smiled brilliantly at Skye and Adam. Her sharp gaze flicked to Conn, and obviously liking what she saw, she favored him with a smile also.

"Majesty," Adam said, "may I present to you my wife's brother, Master Conn O'Malley."

Elizabeth nodded to Conn pleasantly. "You are most welcome at our court, Master O'Malley," she said.

Conn's look was one of intense admiration. Kneeling, he caught at the hem of the Queen's skirt and kissed it. "In Ireland," he said in his soft, lilting voice, "they say ye are the Divil's own daughter, madam, but having seen yer Majesty I must disagree. Thou art Gloriana herself, and I worship willingly at yer feet."

Elizabeth's mouth twitched at the corners with suppressed mirth. She was not so foolish as to believe his outrageous compliment was totally sincere and from the heart, but nonetheless she was flattered. "Rise, Conn O'Malley," she said. "I want a better look at you." He rose gracefully, and the Queen assessed him frankly. A very handsome lad, she thought, pleased, and quite eager to be in her good graces. A sharp Irish wit and tongue, she had not a doubt. Ah, how she loved such rogues! "Do you dance, Conn O'Malley?"

"Aye, Gloriana," he answered her boldly.

"Then you'll open the ball with me this night, Conn O'Malley," Elizabeth Tudor said, standing up and taking his quickly offered arm as at once the musicians began to play.

Sir Christopher Hatton looked crestfallen, for he had fully expected to dance the first dance with the Queen. The lad was no clod on his feet either, he observed, although he was not worried about losing his place to this young Irish upstart.

"They come and they go, the dancing masters," murmured a satisfied voice in his ear. "I wonder how long the bog trotter will last."

"It's been a while since she's confined all her attention to you also, Dudley," Sir Christopher returned. "The Queen, being a woman of intellect and refinement, likes choice and variety in those about her. You bored her to death long ago."

“They're worse than jealous women," Adam said low to Skye.

"She plays them off against each other so none will ever gain ascendancy over her," Skye said softly.

"An astute judgment, madam," said William Cecil, who without their knowing it had come up behind them.

"Dammit, m'lord, you walk like a cat!" Skye said irritably.

Lord Burghley gave a dry chuckle. "A talent that has stood me in good stead on many an occasion. You need have no fear, madam, as long as your intentions toward England are honorable." He gently took her arm. "Will you both come with me?" he asked. "I have something to say to you that requires privacy."

They walked with him from the room where the revels were being held, and out into the deserted corridor. "What is it you have to tell us, my lord?" Skye said.

William Cecil stopped, and looking around to ascertain that they would not be overheard, he spoke. 'The Queen wishes you to know that should she find your brother worthy of her trust, Lady de Marisco, then the patents that he desires for your family will be forthcoming in a few months. For now, her Majesty wishes Conn O'Malley to remain with the court so she may judge his worth. After Twelfth Night, however, you and Lord de Marisco arc to be excused from court to go to your new home at Queen's Malvern. You are forbidden for the next few months from traveling to France. Is that understood?"

Skye nodded. "May I tell my brother, my lord?"

"No. It is better he not know for now."

Adam agreed. "Aye, my love. If Conn feels his goal is not yet attained he will continue to be on his best behavior. It would not do," he finished with meaning, "for Conn to feel free of all restraints."

"Yes," Lord Burghley replied. "Her Majesty should be most displeased should the young O'Malley divert his attentions from her to say, ah, the Countess of Essex."

"Is there anything you don't see, my lord?" Skye said, amused.

Again the dry chuckle. "Very little, madam, very little indeed." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I would be pleased, madam, if when we return to the revels you would honor me with your first dance."

"Honor you, my lord? I think it is you who honor me," Skye said.

Lord Burghley smiled his sour smile. "You O'Malleys have charm, madam. I am frankly relieved to find you safely within the keeping of a loyal Englishman again. We shall have to see what we can do to win over your young brother. I tremble to think of any of you loose upon England again."

“There was a day not long ago, my lord, when you had cause to tremble," Skye rejoined. "I shall keep the peace if England does. The treachery has never been on my part, and well you know it."

"Come, madam," William Cecil said, pretending to ignore her words. "Both the night and I grow older by the minute."

Then the Queen's Secretary of State led Skye back into the paneled chamber where the musicians were playing a sprightly tune. The Queen was still favoring young Conn, and he partnered her with grace and charming devotion; but everyone's attention was diverted from Elizabeth Tudor and her latest swain by the sight of William Cecil dancing gaily with the beautiful Lady de Marisco. It was very rare that the Queen's loyal and dour servant was seen to dance, and no one in the room that night could remember him ever dancing with anyone other than his wife or the Queen.

"I think you have made me the envy of all in the room, my lord Burghley," Skye laughed.

"Nonsense," Cecil chuckled. "It is I who am to be envied, madam."

"You have caused an outrageous amount of gossip by your behavior, my lord," Skye teased him. 'They will spend days trying to decide why you have danced with me when everyone knows your habit is not to dance."

"Yes," Lord Burghley murmured, "they will wonder, won't they?"

"Why, you have done it on purpose," Skye said, delighted by his unlikely attitude.

"Yes, madam, I have. It is better that none, even yourself, madam, be too sure of William Cecil."

"You have one constant, my lord, that all may be sure of."

"Indeed, madam, and what is that?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Your loyalty to the Queen, my lord. That will never change."

Cecil nodded. "You are right, Skye O'Malley. My loyalty to Elizabeth Tudor will never change, nor will it cease, and now, madam, I will return you to your devoted lord. I thank you for the dance. It has been a long time since I allowed myself such a frivolity."

With a gallant bow he handed her over to her husband, and Skye watched as he moved off back to the Queen's side. Adam smiled down on her from his great height. "You will be both envied and feared by almost everyone in this room for the rest of your stay at court," he noted.

She smiled back at him. "There are few here I should care to call friends."

“Then I know it will not displease you that we are not to follow the court now that we are back in England."

"No, it does not displease me. I would like at least one of my children to have a secure home with both parents." She sighed. "Home. I wonder what it will be like, Adam. Is the midsection of England beautiful, or is the Queen punishing us?"

"I have only been in the Midlands once, Skye, but it is a fair green land of well-watered valleys and rolling hills. It is, I think, probably the most peaceful place in England. I suspect the Queen has been kind in her way."

Skye remembered his words some three weeks later as they sat astride their horses looking down upon their new home. It was a cold, clear day in the middle of January. The sky was smooth and bright blue, the sun sharp and yellow. The land lay brown and quiet in the sparse and frugal warmth of midday. Above them a small flock of pigeons whirled softly.

Queen's Malvern was set like a small, perfect jewel in a little valley that nesded in the Malvern Hills between the Severn and the Wye rivers. The house, built in the shape of an E, had been constructed a hundred years earlier, during the reign of Edward IV, and his wife, Elizabeth Woodville. It had been Edward's gift to his wife, hence its name, Queen's Malvern. Throughout all its years, it had remained a royal property. Now it belonged temporarily to the de Marisco family, a gift from Elizabeth Tudor.

Built of mellowed pink brick, some of its walls ivy covered, it sat silently awaiting its new owners. As they rode down the hill to the house Skye felt that the building had an almost expectant air about it, and she thought to herself: We are alike this house and I. We both need each other. It suddenly came to her that no family had ever really inhabited the place. It had always been a royal residence, to be visited during a progress if its owners happened to be in the neighborhood. Still, as they approached it she could see with her critical eye that the house appeared to be in good repair. The diamond-paned windows were dirty, but unbroken.

As they reached the main entrance of the building it opened and a small man emerged. "Be ye Lord de Marisco?" he asked politely.

"I am Adam de Marisco," came the reply.

"I’m Peter, the bailiff, m'lord. Welcome to Queen's Malvern. Ye'll find the house in good condition, but there ain't much in the way of furnishings, being the royalty always carried their things with them. There's a good cabinetmaker in the village, should ye need him."

Their horses had come to a halt, and Adam said, "We left our family and things in Worcester while we came on to see the house, Peter. Though we have much, I am sure my wife will make use of the cabinetmaker."

Peter bobbed his head in acknowledgment of Adam's words. "Then I'll be on my way home, m'lord. The wife and I occupy a little house on the edge of the property. If you need anything we'll be there."

"We will need servants," Skye spoke. 'Tell the village that anyone wishing to enter service should come tomorrow morning."

"Aye, m'lady! There's many that'll be happy to hear that news." He bobbed his head again, and then shuffled off out of sight around the side of the house.

Adam dismounted his horse and tied it to a nearby bush. He then helped Skye to dismount and secured her mount, too. For several long minutes they stood looking at the house, and about them, each caught up in their private thoughts. As much as he had loved Lundy, Adam had to admit to himself that this beautiful estate was a better and more fitting place for his wife and child. He felt a great contentment as he looked about him.

Skye gazed at the house and thought: This is the first home that belongs to Adam and me. Lundy and Belle Fleur are his, Greenwood mine, Lynmouth Robin's; but this is ours, and I am at last free of all my responsibilities to the O'Malleys. She smiled thinking about how the Queen had made a decision for her that Skye hadn't thought she would be able to make herself. Before they had left London Elizabeth Tudor had suggested to Skye that she appoint her full brother, Michael O'Malley, to the office of the O'Malley, head of the clan.

"But he's a priest," Skye had protested. "I often think that one of the reasons he became a priest was to avoid being the O'Malley."

“That was when he was a boy," the Queen replied. "I understand from the Spanish ambassador that the Pope intends to appoint your brother to the bishopric held by that old reprobate, your late uncle. The Church doesn't appoint men who avoid responsibility to high places, madam. If the Pope thinks highly of your brother you can think no less. None of your other brothers will ever be fit to hold the office, I suspect from what Master Conn has told me. Let the priest run the family, and pass on the office to one of his nephews eventually. He'll not necessarily pick the eldest, and they'll all have to scramble to gain his approval."

"I had thought that perhaps Conn would suit," Skye mused.

"Hah!" The Queen's bright eyes snapped with amusement. "Conn O'Malley is an ambitious man, madam. He seeks to make his fortune here in England. I will shortly appoint him to my Gentlemen Pensioners. There is always room for another handsome young man."

Skye was astounded. "Conn?" she gasped. "A member of your personal guard?"

"Aye," Elizabeth replied. "He's a rogue, 'tis true, madam, but he has a good heart, I've found. Be sensible, my dear. Your brother is. What is there for Conn O'Malley in Ireland? Not only is he the youngest son, he is the youngest child of your father. He has neither lands nor wealth to recommend him. He must make his own fortune, and what better place to make it than here in my service?"

She had known that the Queen was right with regard to her brother, and after she had spoken with him Skye decided to do as the Queen suggested and make Michael O'Malley the head of the family. The Queen had made it very clear that she would no longer tolerate Skye in such a position of potential power; power that could be used against her.

"I do not mind your dabbling in trade, madam, but I will not give you shelter and then have you use your O'Malley ships against me."

There was a time when Skye would have rebelled against such an edict, but not now. She was wonderfully content with Adam and all her children, and she wanted peace in her life at last. She wrote to her brothers in Ireland telling them of her decision to appoint Michael the O'Malley. To Michael and to Anne, she wrote the reasons for her decision. To her three younger brothers, she explained her decision simply by saying that they had too much to do rebuilding their wealth to be bothered with the care of their people. With her letters went the Queen's patents for privateering that the O'Malley brothers had desired.

Several days after Twelfth Night Skye and Adam had left London with Deirdre and Velvet to travel to their new home. Bran Kelly intended to sail in convoy with Robbie to the Far East, a voyage that would keep them out of England for two to three years. Daisy, therefore, decided to stay with Skye, and packing up her two sons and her elderly mother-in-law, she came along. Dame Cecily, also getting along in years though she vigorously denied it, was persuaded to close up Wren Court and come to live with the de Mariscos.

"Haven't you always been mother to me and grandmother to my children since I arrived in England?" Skye had demanded. "I would worry myself to death if you stayed alone down in Devon."

"I have stayed alone most of my life, dearest Skye," the old woman protested weakly.

"But I need you, Dame Cecily," Skye replied, and she smiled coaxingly.

"Well, if you are sure you need me…"

"Oh, I do!"

"We both do," Adam had said, putting an arm about Dame Cecily.

Skye now smiled to herself as she remembered how the tears had filled Dame Cecily's eyes. They were all so fortunate to have each other! She stood before Queen's Malvern, and she knew with certainty that she had at last come home.

"You're happy," Adam said quietly.

"Yes," she answered, taking his hand. "I’m happy, Adam, my darling. Do you realize that this is our first real home? We are home at long, long last, my Adam!"

"Yes," he replied. "Our home! Our home for now, and for all the sweet tomorrows!" Adam de Marisco bent and kissed Skye with a deep and passionate kiss. Then sweeping his wife up into his arms, he carried her through the open door of Queen's Malvern and into their home. Their home for now and all the sweet tomorrows.

– Ethna Carbery