Skye O'Malley

Chapter 1

It was a perfect early summer day in the year 1555. Innisfana
Island, its great green cliffs tumbling into the deep and spar-
kling blue sea, shone clear at the mouth of O’Malley Bay.
English weather, the Irish inhabitants of the region called it,
and it was nearly the only English thing they approved of. There
was a slight breeze, and in the skies above the island the gulls and
terns soared and swooped, their eerie skrees the only counterpoint
to the breaking surf.

Standing tall against the horizon was O’Malley Castle, a typical
tower house of dark gray stone. Rising several stories high, it com-
manded a view of the sea from all its windows. It had a wide moat,
and beyond that moat was-of all things-a rose garden, planted
by the late Lady O’Malley. After her death, now four years past,
the new Lady O’Malley kept the garden up. Now in full bloom, it
was a riot of yellows, pinks, reds, and whites, a perfect background
for the wedding of the youngest daughter.

Inside the tower house, in the main hall, the five older daughters
of the O’Malley family sat happily gossiping with their pretty step-mother while they sewed and embroidered the bride’s trousseau. It
had been a long time since they had all been together. Now, each
had her own home, and they all met only on special occasions.

They were as similar now as they had been as children. Medium-
tall, they all ran to partridge plump. It was the kind of comfortable
figure that kept a man warm on a cold night. Each was fair-skinned with soft peach-colored cheeks, serious gray eyes, and long, straight,
light-brown hair. None was beautiful, but none was ugly, either.

The eldest, Moire, was twenty-five, and had been married for
twelve years. She was mother to nine living children, seven sons.
Moire stood high in her father’s favor. Peigi, at twenty-three, had
been married ten years and was mother to nine sons. Peigi stood
even higher in her father’s favor. Bride, twenty-one, had been mar-
ried eight years, and had only four children, two of whom were
boys. Dubhdara tolerated Bride, and constantly exhorted her to
greater productivity. “You’re more like your mother than the others,”
he would say ominously.

Eibhlin, eighteen, was the only one with a religious calling. She
had been such a quiet little thing that they hadn’t even suspected her
piety until the boy to whom she was to be wed succumbed to an
attack of measles the year Eibhlin was twelve. As O’Malley con-
sidered a possible replacement bridegroom for his fourth daughter*
Eibhlin begged to be allowed to enter a convent. She genuinely
desired that life. Because her uncle Seamus, now bishop of Muirisk,
was present for the talk, Dubhdara O’Malley was forced to give his
consent. Eibhlin entered her convent at thirteen, and had just recently
taken final vows.

Sine O’Malley Butler was sixteen, wed three years, and the
mother of one boy. She was eight months pregnant but she would
not have missed Skye’s wedding.

The married sisters were dressed in simply cut, full-skirted silk
dresses with bell sleeves and low, scooped necklines. Moire was in
a deep, rich blue, Peigi in scarlet, Bride in violet, and Sine in golden
yellow. The lacy frill of their chemises peeked elegantly up through
the low bodices.

Eibhlin struck the only somber note. Her all-covering black linen
gown was relieved only by a severe white starched rectangular bib,
in which was centered an ebony, silver-banded crucifix. About her
waist the nun wore a twisted silk rope, also black, which hung in
two plaits to the hem of her gown. One plait, knotted into three
knots, symbolized the Trinity. The other, knotted in the same man-
ner, symbolized the estates of poverty, chastity, and obedience. By
way of vivid contrast, her sisters wore chains of wrought gold or
silver about their waists, and each woman had attached to her chain
a rosary, a needlecase, a mirror, or simply a set of household keys.

Because this was an informal home garthering, the married sisters
wore their hair loose, parted in the center. Sine and Peigi had added
pretty arched linen caps. And of course Eibhlin, whose hair had
been cut when she took her vows, wore starched and pleated white
wings over her white wimple.

Presiding over this gathering was Dubhdara O’Malley’s second
wife. Anne was the same age as her stepdaughter, Eibhlin, and a
pregnant with her fourth child as was her stepdaughter, Sine. Anne
was a pretty woman, with chestnut-brown curls, merry brown eyes,
and a sweet, sensible nature. Anne’s silk gown was of a deep win‹
shade, and fashioned identically to her stepdaughters’ gowns. But
over her ruffled bodice Anne wore a double strand of creamy baroque
pearls. None of the O’Malley daughters had resented their father’:
marriage to Anne and everyone liked her enormously. One could
not help liking Anne.

For nine years after Skye’s birth Dubhdara O’Malley had obeyed
his priest brother’s edict, and stayed out of his wife’s bed. He really
did not wish to kill Peigi. Free of yearly pregnancies, Peigi regained
her strength and even began to bloom. Then, one night, Dubhdara
O’Malley had arrived home from a long voyage. It was late. He had
no current mistress, and there wasn’t a servant girl in sight. He had
gotten drunk and sought his wife’s bed. Nine months later, Peigi
O’Malley died giving birth to the long-awaited son, born September
29^th and baptized Michael. The little boy was now almost six.

Within an almost indecently short time O’Malley had taken his
second wife, a girl of thirteen. Nine months from their wedding day
Anne had birthed Brian; a year later, Shane; and in another year,
Shamus. Unlike her meek predecessor, Anne O’Malley possessed
good health and high spirits. This child she carried was to be the
last, she told her husband firmly. It would also, she assured him,
be a boy. Five sons should give him the immortality he craved.

O’Malley had laughed and slapped her playfully on the backside.
His daughters took this to mean that he was either in his dotage or
growing mellow with age. Had their own mother ever made such
a statement she would have been beaten black and blue. But then,
Anne O’Malley was the mother of sons.

Moire looked up from her embroidery to gaze with pleasure about
the hall. It had never looked so nice in their mother’s time for she,
poor soul, had spent much of her life in her own rooms.

The stone floors were always well swept now, the rushes changed
weekly. The oak trestles were polished to a mellow golden hue,
reflecting the great silver candlesticks with their pure beeswax tapers.
The big brass andirons were filled with enormous oak logs, ready
to be lit when the evening arrived. Behind the high board, promi-
nently displayed, hung a large new tapestry depicting Saint Brendan
the Monk on a sky-blue background, guiding his ship across the
western seas. Anne had designed it, and had been working on it
almost every evening. of her married life. It had been a labor of love, for the second Lady O’Malley adored not only her bluff, big husband,
but their sons and their home as well.

Moire’s eyes lit upon several big colorful porcelain bowls filled
with roses. Their pungent, spicy scent gave the room a wonderful
exotic smell. Moire wrinkled her nose with pleasure and said to
Anne, “The bowls are new?”

“Aye,” came the reply. “Your father brought them back from his
last voyage. He is so good to me, Moire.”

“And why not?” demanded Moire. “You are good to him, Anne.”

“Where is Skye?” interrupted Peigi.

“Out riding with young Dom. I am surprised at your father in
pursuing this betrothal. They do not suit at all.”

“They were promised in the cradle,” explained Moire. “It wasn’t
easy for Da to find husbands for us all, for we’ve none of us large
dowries. Skye’s marrying the heir to the Ballyhennessey O’Flaherty’s
is the best match of us all.”

Anne shook her head. “I fear this match. Your sister is a very
independent girl.”

“And it’s all Da’s fault for he has spoiled her terribly,” said Peigi.
”She should have been married off two years ago at thirteen, like
the rest of us. But no, Skye did not want it. He lets her have her
way all the time!”

“That’s not so, Peigi,” Eibhlin chided her sister. “Anne is correct
when she says that Skye and Dom do not suit. Skye is not like us
in temperament. We favor our mother while she favors Da. Dom
is simply neither strong enough nor sensitive enough to be Skye’s
husband.”

“Hoity-toity, sister,” said Peigi sourly. “It amazes me how much
the wee nun knows about human nature.”

“Indeed and I do,” replied Eibhlin calmly, “for whom do you
think the poor women of my district pour out their unhappiness to,
Peigi? Certainly not the priest! He tells them it is their Christian duty
to be abused by their menfolk! And then he adds to their guilt by
giving them a penance.”

The sisters look shocked, and Anne broke the tension by laughing,
”You’re more a rebel than a holy woman, stepdaughter.”

Eibhlin sighed. “You speak the truth, Anne, and it troubles me
greatly. But though I try I cannot seem to change.”

Anne O’Malley leaned over and fondly patted her stepdaughter
on the hand. “Being a woman is never, ever easy,” she said wisely,
”no matter what role we chose to play in life.”

The two young women smiled fondly at each other with complete
understanding. Then everyone looked startled as they heard shouting in the entry hall below them. As the noise came toward them up the
steps the O’Malley sisters glanced knowingly at each other. They
recognized the voices of Dom O’Flaherty and their sister, Skye.

As the two burst into the main hall, Anne O’Malley was again
struck by the beauty of the two young people. She had never seen
two more physically perfect people, and perhaps this was why her
husband insisted on the match. Anne shivered with apprehension.

Dom O’Flaherty threw his riding gloves on a table. At eighteen
he was of medium height, slender, with beautifully shaped arms,
hands, and legs. Having inherited his French grandmother’s color-
ing, he had glorious, close-cropped, curly golden hair, and sky-blue
eyes. He affected a tailored short beard that hugged the perfectly
sculpted sides of his face and ended in a softly rounded point.
Because he was angry, however, his fair skin was now an unattrac-
tive, mottled red. His handsome face with its long, straight nose and
narrow lips was contorted with rage.

“It’s indecent!” he shouted at Skye. “It’s indecent and immodest
for a maiden to ride astride a beast! My God, Skye! That horse of
yours! When we’re married I will see that you’re more suitably
mounted upon a palfrey. What ever possessed your father to let you
ride mat big, black brute, I’ll never know!”

“You lost, Dom,” came the infuriatingly cool reply. “You lost
the race to me, and as you always did when we were children, you
try to retaliate by clouding the issue. Well, let me tell you what you
can do with your bloody palfrey!”

“Skye!” Anne O’Malley’s voice was sharp with warning.

The girl looked to her stepmother, then laughed. “Oh, all right,
Annie,” she acquiesed prettily, “I will try to behave myself. But,
Dom O’Flaherty… hear me well. Finn is my horse. I have raised
him from a colt, and I love him. If we’re to be happily married, you
must accept that, for I have no intention of exchanging him for a
rocking horse just to soothe your male pride.”

And while her bridegroom fumed, Skye signaled to a servant to
bring some wine. As if in afterthought, she ordered some for Dom
as well. Flinging himself into a chair, he glowered at her, but all
the while his eyes roamed her body and he thought how beautiful
she was in her dark-green silk riding habit. The skirt was divided,
and the neckline open, plunging into the valley of her young breasts.
Tiny beads of moisture had gathered on her chest and the sight
excited him. He realized that he longed to possess this lovely young
woman.

At fifteen Skye O’Malley was well on the way to fulfilling the
promise of unequaled beauty that she had shown at birth. She stood
every bit as tall as her betrothed. Like him, she was beautifully proportioned, with a slim waist that moved into softly rounded hips.
Her breasts were small but full. She had a heart-shaped face. Her
eyes were still the color of the seas off the Kerry coast, sometimes
pure blue, sometimes dark, sometimes azure with a faint hint of
green. They were fringed in thick ebony lashes that brushed tender
pink cheeks. Her nose was slim, turning up just slightly at the tip.
And if you looked carefully you could see a few soft, golden freckles
across the bridge of her nose. The red mouth was surprisingly se-
ductive with a full lower lip, and when she laughed she revealed
small, perfect white teeth. Her skin was the color of cream and
seemed even fairer by the contrasting mass of blue-black hair that
tumbled about her shoulders.

She excited Dom very much, although he, it seemed, did not
interest her. She far preferred galloping that great black stallion of
hers at breakneck speed about the countryside, or sailing off with
her father on some piratical adventure. The realization was quite a
shock to his pride.

Dom O’Flaherty was not used to indifference from the fair sex.
Women ordinarily made fools of themselves over him, and he was
very proud of his sexual prowess.

Dom tried to console himself with the thought that once he bedded
her she would soon be tamed. Hot-tempered virgins usually turned
out to be passionate lovers. He licked his thin lips in anticipation,
and quaffed his. goblet of wine. He was not aware that his betrothed
was eying him with disgust. Dom O’Flaherty would run to fat in his
middle years, Skye decided.

Again from the entry below came the noises of arrival. Anne
O’Malley rose to her feet with a smile. “Your father is back,” she
said, “and it sounds like he brings guests.”

Two large wolfhounds, several setters, and a large terrier all
bounded into the hall. One of the wolfhounds trotted up to Anne
and dropped two small velvet bags at her feet. Bending, Lady
O’Malley picked up the bags and, loosening the strings, poured the
contents of one bag into her cupped hand. She stared at the sapphire-
and-diamond necklace that nestled in her palm. “Holy Mary!” she
gasped.

Dubhdara O’Malley chuckled with pleasure from the doorway.
”Then you like it, lovey? There’s earbobs, and a ring to match in
the other.”

“Like it? Oh, Dubh, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned!
Where…?

“Portuguese galleon got itself blown off course and then wrecked
aways up the coast. We were just in time to save the captain from
the scavengers. He was most grateful.”

Anne said no more, but she read between the lines. It was obvious
that her husband and his crew had battled coastal wreckers for pos-
session of the damaged galleon. The O’Malleys had been pirates for
centuries. It was their way of life. Undoubtedly the captain of the
unfortunate ship and the survivors among his crew were now housed
in the dungeons below, where they would spend the next several
months awaiting ransom. Anne shuddered and reminded herself that
such thoughts were not her concern.

“And where’s my wee lass?” demanded the O’Malley.

“Here, Da.” Skye rose from her chair and came forward.

Seeing her garb, he frowned with disapproval. “Still riding
astride, poppet?”

“Don’t scold me, Da,” she wheedled him prettily. “It was you
who taught me, and I simply can’t gallop Finn sitting sideways. It’s
most unnatural.”

The O’Malley cocked an eyebrow. “Must you gallop him?
Wouldn’t a nice trot do you? You must think of the babes you’re
going to bear Dom now, poppet.”

She ignored his last remark. “Have you ever tried to trot with
one leg slung over a pommel, Da? The last time I tried it I ended
up with bruises all over my-“

“Skye! We’ve guests!”

For the first time her attention was drawn to the man by his side.

“My Lord,” she heard her father say, “this is my youngest daugh-
ter, Skye, who will shortly be the bride of young O’Flaherty. Skye,
this is Niall, Lord Burke, the MacWilliam’s heir.”

“Niall an iarain, Niall of the Iron,” she said softly. This was a
famous man, the secret dream lover of half the maidens in Ireland.

“I see my reputation precedes me, my lady Skye.”

“It is an open secret that you are Captain Revenge, and that you
conduct those daring raids against the English who live in the Dublin
Pale. Of course, no one would dare accuse you of this.”

“Yet you, my lady, do not fear me,” he murmured, holding her
fast with his gaze until she blushed.

The voice was deep and sure, but as smooth as fine velvet. She
shivered. She raised her eyes to his. They were a silvery gray, and
she imagined that in anger they would be colder than the far northern
sea, but in the heat of passion they would be fiery warm like rich
wine. Guilty color flooded her cheeks at these immodest thoughts.
The gray eyes twinkled infuriatingly, as if reading her mind.

He towered over her by a good eight inches. His smoothly shaven
face had been tanned by the outdoors. The short-cropped hair was
as midnight dark as her own.

Raising her hand, he kissed it. It was all she could do not to
snatch it away, for his lips burned her flesh like a brand. Sweet
Mary, she thought, he’s so much more sophisticated than Dom, yet
he’s only ten years older than I am.

“My lord, welcome to Innisfana,” she murmured politely. Dear
God! Was that husky, breathless voice hers? And why was Anne
staring at her so strangely?

Her father’s voice brought her back to reality. “These are for your
dowry, poppet,” he said, handing her a marvelous collection of
rubies set in gold. They were a necklace, earrings, bracelets, a ring,
and a hair ornament. Everyone exclaimed, and Dom O’Flaherty
congratulated himself as though he had been personally responsible
for choosing his bride.

Skye clutched the jewelry to her. Thanking her father, she left
the hall. Damn! thought Anne O’Malley. She has been attracted to
Lord Burke. And why not? Now why couldn’t Dubh have betrothed
her to a strong, fierce man like Lord Burke instead of that vain boy,
O’Flaherty?

Skye walked up the stairs to her chamber with what she hoped
was great dignity. She was quite surprised that she could move at
all, for her legs were shaking terribly. She was very confused, and
not just a little frightened by her reaction to Lord Burke. She hoped
she hadn’t behaved like a green maid, but never had she had this
kind of a reaction to a man.

She had never seen Niall Burke before, though his romantic and
military escapades were legend. As she had dared to say aloud
minutes before, he was known to some as the famous Captain Re-
venge, who caused havoc for the English and their Irish allies when-
ever he felt that their policies were not serving Ireland.

Captain Revenge exacted a high penalty from English overlords
who dealt unfairly with their native Irish underlings. Once, in an
escapade later to have all of Ireland laughing up its sleeve, Captain
Revenge had made love to the daughter of an important English
nobleman who had estates in Ireland. Having learned the layout of
her father’s castle from the love-besotted girl, Captain Revenge
ransacked the castle’s treasure room and used the nobleman’s store
to pay the taxes of several impoverished Irish families. The English
accepted the money and rendered receipts. When the deception was
uncovered, it was too late for anything to be done, and the English
fumed with impotent rage. Certainly they suspected the connection
between Captain Revenge and Niall, Lord Burke. But what could
anyone do? London’s policy was that the overload of Mid-Connaught
was not to be antagonized. He was, after all, an ally-an ally to the

English being anybody not openly waging war against England. And
too, they asked themselves, what possible real damage could one
high-spirited young man do?

He was indeed a fascinating man, thought Skye, and when their
eyes met there had been a moment of deep recognition.

Safe in her room, she watched as Molly, her maid, prepared her
bath. Molly thought the lady Skye bathed too much, but Molly had
to admit that her mistress smelted better than anyone she knew. She
took the riding clothes from the girl and, brushing them, put them
in the wardrobe. Skye divested herself of her undergarments, pinned
her long hair up, and climbed into the tub.

The warm water felt good. Slowly Skye rubbed the cake of scented
soap between her hands, then washed her face. Niall Burke. Niall
Burke. Her mind repeated his name like a litany. He was so tall.
He had made her feel petite, which she most certainly was not. He
had been dressed in the English fashion, with elegant parti-colored
hose and matching green pantaloons to the knee. She imagined the
rippling muscles beneath the green velvet doublet. She suddenly
wondered what it would feel like to be crushed against that broad
chest, and to her shame the little nipples on her small breasts hard-
ened, thrusting above the water.

What on earth was the matter with her? She had never had thoughts
like these before. She knew so little about what went on between
men and women, and Dom had certainly never inspired her. In fact,
for all his good looks, Dom repelled her.

Molly took the soap from Skye, finished washing her, and dried
her off with a linen towel. She had barely finished wrapping the girl
in a silken chamber robe when a knock sounded on the door. Molly
opened it, bobbed a flirtatious curtsey, and admitted Dom O’Flaherty.

He sauntered in with a lascivious look to his bride-to-be, whose
young body was well outlined by the robe. “I have to leave you for
a few days, Skye. Sir Murrough has sent word that I am needed.
I will be back in time for our wedding.”

Skye’s heart soared. He would be gone, and Lord Burke would
be here! “Go with God, Dom,” she said sweetly.

For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Dom reached
out and pulled his betrothed into his arms. “No kiss, lovey? You
would send me on my way without the least sign of affection?”

“We’re not wed yet, Dom. I don’t have to kiss you.”

“Don’t have to?” he exploded. “Christ, Skye, don’t be such a
little prude! You’ll have to do more than kiss me in a few days’
time!” Damn, but she was a sweet armful, all perfumed and warm
from the bath. He could feel his desire growing. He sought for her
mouth, but she squirmed away.

“No!”

His blue eyes narrowed in anger, but then he laughed. “All right,
lovey. But in a short time I’ll have you begging for my kisses.” He
mocked her a bow, then turned and left the room. She shuddered.

“Oh!” squealed Molly. “He’s a lusty one to be sure, mistress!
You’ll have good bedsport with him, and that’s lucky in a husband!”

“Be quiet, you little fool!” snapped Skye. “Instead of drooling
over my betrothed, fetch my new burgundy velvet gown. I intend
wearing it tonight with the rubies Da gave me.”

Molly scurried to obey. Skye O’Malley was a better mistress than
most, rarely cruel, but not above administering a slap now and then.
The maid laced her mistress into a little beribboned busk that pushed
her pretty breasts up so that they seemed almost to spill from her
pale-pink underblouse. The nearly transparent sleeves were striped
in gold. Carefully Skye drew her stockings up her shapely legs.
They were pink silk, embroidered with a flowering vine of gold
thread, and had been made in Paris. Several petticoats followed, and
then the dress. A beautiful creation of the finest, softest velvet, it
was a shimmering, jewel-red, with a full, flowing skirt. Slashed
sleeves revealed the pink-and-gold-striped sleeves of the under-
blouse.

Skye now sat, careful not to wrinkle her skirts, before her precious
mirror while Molly brushed her dark hair until it shone with bluish
lights. She was not allowed to bind it up until after her marriage.
This had been a source of great frustration to Skye, especially at
sea, but her father had been very firm about it. She might braid it,
but the braids must hang long.

“No O’Malley maiden puts her hair up until she weds,” he stated,
and there was no point in arguing.

Looking at herself in the mirror, however, she had to admit that
her long, wavy hair was beautiful. Especially now, as Molly placed
a little gold lace cap with a tiny veil on her head. Skye clasped the
ruby necklace about her throat and studied the effect. The great
stones glittered almost savagely against the creamy softness of her
bare chest, and when she caught her breath she noted with surprise
mat her breasts swelled provocatively beneath the glittering rubies.
The jeweled hair ornament was to be put aside until she wore her
hair up, but she slipped on the earrings, bracelet, and ring. Sliding
her feet into red velvet shoes, she stood.

“Lor’, mistress,” breathed Molly reverently. “I never seen you
look so beautiful! What a pity Master Dom’s not here now to see
you. You could drive a man to madness!”

Skye laughed, pleased. “Do you really think so, Molly?” Secretly
she was wondering whether Lord Burke could be driven to madness.

Her insides fluttered with fearful, delicious anticipation. She almost
flew out the door, bumping into her pretty stepmother as she did so.

“Gracious, Skye,” laughed Anne O’Malley. “If you would impress the hall, then you must not rush so. Make a grand
entrance… slowly gliding… thusly, my love.” She demonstrated
prettily.

“Your pardon, Anne. I did not hurt you, did I?

“No, love, but stop so I may look at you. Dear heaven; how
lovely you are, and not yet grown. If young Dom could but see you
now…”

Skye made a face. “I don’t want to marry him, Anne!” The words
tumbled out all by themselves.

Anne O’Malley was suddenly serious and fully sympathetic. “I
know, love. I know, and I do understand.”

“Please, Anne, please speak to Da. He adores you, and he’ll
listen to you. He’d do anything for you!”

“Oh, Skye, I’ll try. You know I will. But it will do no good.
Your father is a man of his word, and he has given his word on this
marriage. You’re the last of his girls, and he wants you well settled.
Young O’FIaherty is a very good match for an O’Malley of Innisfana.”

“I hate him!” came the whispered reply. “He’s always undressing
me with his eyes.”

“Perhaps it will be different when you’re wed,” soothed Anne,
though in her heart she knew it wouldn’t. “Maidens are often fearful
of the unknown. But really, there is no cause for alarm, my love.
Tomorrow I will come and explain it all to you, Skye.”

“Speak to Da, Anne! Please, promise me you will!”

“I will, Skye. I promise I will.”

The two women moved down the steps to the main hall of the
castle, and all the while Anne was aware that Niall Burke’s eyes
were fastened to her beautiful stepdaughter. At the bottom of the
steps he was there, tucking Skye’s small hand in his arm, wordlessly
sweeping her away while Anne watched helplessly. No one else saw
the dangerous, hopeless attraction between the two. She must speak
to Dubhdara!

The floor beneath Skye’s feet seemed to have disappeared. She
was floating. Shyly she glanced down at the hand covering hers. It
was big, and square, and brown. It was magically warm, and she
could feel the strength hidden deep within it. Her heart was pounding.
Why did he affect her this way?

They walked over to the great fireplace, which was flanked by
enormous stone lions. It was red with the oak logs that now burned
merrily with an occasional crackle and snap. They stopped and observed the leaping flames for a moment. They did not look at each other, but merely stood side by side.

Finally he spoke. “Why do you tremble when I touch you?”

“I am not used to the attentions of men,” she answered him
breathlessly.

Turning her so that she faced him, he looked down at her. “I do
not understand that, Skye O’Malley, for you are outrageously fair.
Has no man, even your betrothed, whispered sweet words of love
into your little shell ear?”

“No.” Her cheeks were softly pink now, and her voice was so
low that he had to bend to hear her.

Niall Burke was enchanted. He felt something strange sweeping
over him, possessing him, rushing him onward to something his
inner voice warned against. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he com-
manded her. “I promise not to bite you, though God knows you’re
a tempting morsel.”

Shyly she raised her blue eyes to his silvery gray ones, and for
a moment Skye felt as if she were drowning. She realized he felt
it too! Neither could tear their gaze away. They were suspended in
time, their souls flowing back and forth between their bodies, twining
into one perfect being.

A great guffaw of laughter from the other side of the hall broke
the spell. With shock, Niall swore, “Christ! What is it you do to
me, little witch?” He was astounded by himself. “Turn your eyes
from me, Skye darling, before I shame us both.” He signaled a
servant bearing a tray of wine goblets and, snatching two, gave one
to Skye. He gulped down the other, welcoming the burning sensation
that spread through his stomach. It gave him something to concen-
trate on, to prevent himself from carrying this girl away from the
hall forever.

When dinner was announced, Lord Burke, as the highest-ranking
guest, was seated next to the bride-to-be. He was artful enough to
hide his troubled emotions, but the meal tasted like sawdust to him.
He was a man of the world, experienced beyond most, but the girl
had affected him as no other female had ever done. He admitted to
himself that he desperately wanted to bed the wench, but there was
a great deal more to it than that, something he had never felt before.
It had all come on him so quickly that be couldn’t understand it

Niall Burke was the only son of Rory Burke, the MacWilliam of
Middle Connaught. The MacWilliam had almost despaired of ever
having an heir. All three of his wives had died in childbirth. The
last of them, Maerid O’Brien, had given him his only child. From
the moment of his birth Niall had been a strong and healthy lad, but
the MacWilliam anxiously protected him.

His wet nurse ate at the MacWilliam’s table so that the lord of
Mid-Connaught could oversee her diet. The baby’s nursery was kept
well warmed in the winter and dry in the damp weather. No child
had ever been so well taken care of. Even his sleep was overseen
by a night nurse who sat first by his cradle, and later by his bedside,
monitoring his every bream.

Despite it all, the boy flourished. Convinced that he had a lively
heir, the MacWilliam finally eased his stranglehold. Intelligent, Niall
was educated first by the priests and then sent to England for polish
at Cambridge. In sports there was no one to touch him, and because
he could not be bested in any field, he was called Ironman.

He could run faster than any man in Ireland, was unbeaten in
wrestling from the time he was twelve, was both an excellent swords-
man and an excellent falconer. He swam as though bom to water,
rode like a centaur, and could follow a stag’s trail better than most
hounds.

Niall proved a lusty animal between the ages of fourteen and
sixteen. There wasn’t a serving wench in his father’s castle, or a
girl in the surrounding countryside, who was safe from his attentions.
Gradually, however, he calmed down and became more discerning.

Rory Burke adored his only son. And in the number of Niall’s
bastards scattered about the countryside, the father saw a resurgence
of his branch of the Burke family.

Rory now wanted his heir safely wed to a suitable young woman.
Niall, however, had preferred to remain free.

But today had changed that. He had fallen instantly in love with
Skye O’Malley. Never having been denied anything in his entire
life, Niall fully expected to have her.

On Niall’s right sat Eibhlin O’Malley, and throughout dinner he
devoted himself to the nun, much to Eibhlin’s secret amusement.
Like her perceptive stepmother, she had seen the sudden, powerful
attraction between Skye and Lord Burke. She pitied them both.

After dinner, O’Malley suggested that Skye show the O’Malley
rose garden to Lord Burke. It wasn’t an unusual request, for Dubhdara was proud of his youngest daughter’s beauty, wit, and manners.
He enjoyed impressing his guests with her. Anne could only hope
to God that Lord Burke remembered Skye was to be wed in a few
days.

Niall and Skye walked slowly from the hall, down the steps to
the entry, and across the lowered drawbridge. Neither spoke. The
mauve and golden twilight of the early Irish summer gave more than
enough light. The air was cool, with an occasional slight breeze that
carried to them the sensuous fragrance of the roses.

“My mother planned this garden for years,” murmured Skye.

“She loved roses. It was the one thing Da indulged her in. He had
bushes brought in from all over the world. It’s a beautiful garden,
isn’t it?”

“It is most charming,” replied Lord Burke gravely.

“Thank you.”

They walked a bit farther, in silence once more. As they came
to the end of the roses, Skye turned to go back to the castle, but
Lord Burke touched her shoulder and she stopped, her face upturned.
His strong arms wrapped about her. A flame of fierce joy shot
through her. She had known this would happen! She had wanted it
to happen! His dark head dipped, and Skye O’Malley’s lips parted
slightly like an opening rosebud as she received her very first kiss.

To her great surprise his lips were soft. She hadn’t expected that
in a man. Then he was drawing her even closer, and the mouth on
hers became demanding. Instinctively she answered that demand,
freeing her arms and sliding them around his neck so that their bodies
touched. For a brief moment she was floating. Then suddenly,
abruptly, he released her mouth. His eyes were dark with passion.
Looking down on her, he muttered huskily, “I knew it! I knew it
would be this way with you!”

For the briefest moment reason returned, and she began to trem-
ble. Concern filled his eyes and, catching her face between his thumb
and forefinger, he whispered, “No, sweetheart! Don’t regret, or be
afraid of me. God, not that! I could not bear it!”

“I… I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I don’t understand 
what is happening to me.”

‘To us, sweetheart! It’s happening to me too, Skye! I barely know
you, but I’m in love with you. I have never been in love before,
Skye, but I know that I am in love with you.”

“No!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You must not say these
things to me, my lord. In a few days’ time I am to wed with Dom
O’Flaherty.”

“But you don’t love him, Skye!”

“My lord Burke! You know the way of these things. I have been
betrothed since the cradle.”

“I will speak to your father at once, sweetheart. You must not
marry young O’Flaherty!”

She looked at him wonderingly. “Are you not contracted, my
lord?’

“She died before we could be wed. I did not even know her.
Come, sweetheart, I would kiss you again.” His mouth swooped
down, and Skye gave a small cry of joy as she yielded herself wholly
to him.

It was utter madness, yet he loved her! This great and famous man loved her! And dear God! she loved him. She, the level-headed
Skye, had fallen in love at first sight. She could feel his powerful
body restraining itself in its desire, and she loved him the more, for
if he tried to take her now she would give herself gladly, and he
must surely know it.

Reluctantly he loosed her, his eyes warm and caressing. “Skye
sweet Skye! How you intoxicate me, my love! Come, sweetheart
Let us return before I lose my head.” He took her hand and led he
slowly back to the castle.

Anne O’Malley watched them enter the hall, and silently she
despaired. Skye’s cheeks were flushed, her lips softly bruised with
recent kisses, her eyes dreamy with anticipation. Anne rose from
her chair. She had to talk with her husband! Suddenly a pain tore
through her belly, her waters broke, soaking her stockings, shoes,
and her petticoats. “The baby!” she cried, doubling over clutching
her swollen middle. Instantly she was surrounded by the women.
Dubhdara O’Malley shouldered his way through the crowd and,
picking up his wife, carried her out of the hall and upstairs to their
bedchamber.

No one could believe that a woman who had borne three children
so easily would have such a difficult labor with the fourth, but Anne
O’Malley struggled for two days. Eibhlin, trained in midwifery,
worked hard. But the child was large, and turned the wrong way.

Four times the young nun turned the baby to the correct position,
and four times the infant reversed itself. Finally, in desperation,
Eibhlin turned the baby a fifth time and, finding its small shoulder,
gently grasped it and drew the child slowly down the birth canal.
After that, Anne was able to finish the job. As Anne had predicted,
it was a son. The boy weighed over ten pounds. He would be named
Conn.

Dubhdara O’Malley came to his young wife’s bedside. They had
bathed her and put her between clean, lavender-scented sheets. She
had been given a nourishing drink of beef broth mixed with red wine
and herbs, which would stop the bleeding and help her sleep. She
was exhausted.

The room emptied. O’Malley bent and kissed his wife’s cheek.
He looked somewhat older, for he had suffered untold agonies at
the possibility of losing this loving woman.

“No more, Annie! I am happy to settle for five sons, and the
bonniest wife in Ireland! I don’t want to lose you, love.”

She smiled weakly and patted his hand. Then suddenly she re-
membered her promise. “Skye…” she began weakly.

For a moment he looked puzzled, then his brow cleared. “Skye’
Ah, yes! The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow. You’d not have it called off, eh love? Well, don’t worry, Annie. Skye will be wed
tomorrow, never fear. You just rest and get strong, and if you’re
awake before tomorrow evening I’ll send the bride and groom in to
visit you.”

She tried to speak, tried to tell him that he must call it off, that
the wedding of Skye and Dom would be a terrible mistake. But the
herbs and exhaustion had taken effect. Anne struggled to speak, but
could not. Her eyes slowly closed and she couldn’t open them again.
Anne O’Malley had fallen into a deep, drug-induced sleep.

Chapter 2

Dubhdara O’Malley stood looking down at his sleeping daugh-
ter. It shocked even him to realize how beautiful Skye really
was, and he wished he had the name and the fortune to assure
her a nobler husband than young O’Flaherty.

He bore no love for the English, but he knew mat their royal
court was at this moment the center of the earth, and he thought how
Skye would shine there.

Still, he hadn’t done badly by her. Her husband would be the
next chief of the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys, and Skye would be
mother to the chief after Dom. He had her safely settled. He’d miss
her, though. Well, he chuckled to himself, why not admit he had
a special place in his heart for the lass? She was pure O’Malley.
Himself in female form, and like none of his other children.

For a few minutes more he watched her in silent wonder, and
men he gently shook her by the shoulder. “Wake up, Skye! Wake
up, lassie.”

She resisted, having no desire to be yanked from the dream in
which she and Niall were kissing. He persisted, however, and finally
she opened her eyes a bit. “Da? What’s the matter?”

“Annie’s been delivered of a fine, healthy son, poppet. But she’s
fair worn with the effort. Still, she doesn’t want your marriage
postponed. The wedding feast will go on as scheduled, but you and
Dom are to be married in an hour in the family chapel. Get up, Skye
lass! This is your wedding day!”

She was instantly awake. “No, Da! No! Anne promise!-“

“It’s all right, love,” he interrupted. “It’s all right with Anne.

She’s sorry to miss the festivities, but she knows that, with a castle
full of guests, we couldn’t postpone it.”

Skye sat up, her long dark hair tumbling about her white shoul-
ders. Her eyes were enormous and deep blue in her heart-shaped
face. He shifted his eyes uncomfortably from the perfection of her
small breasts, visible through the thin lawn of her shift. “Da! Listen
to me, please! I do not want to marry Dom O’Flaherty! Oh, why
won’t you listen to me?!”

Dubhdara O’Malley sat down on the edge of his favorite child’s
bed. “Now, poppet, we’ve been over this before. Of course you’re
going to marry Dom. He’s a fine young man, and it’s a good match
for you. These bridal nerves are natural, but you must not give way.”

Why didn’t he understand? “No, please, Da! No! I hate Dom! I
cannot… I will not marry him!” There was an hysterical edge to
her voice.

“Skye!” His voice had become stern. “Enough, now! I have post-
poned this wedding for two years in hopes you would outgrow your
willfulness, but no more, poppet! You’ve no reason to cry off, no
religious calling, only silly maiden fears that will have vanished by
this time tomorrow.” He stood up. “Make yourself beautiful for
Dom, poppet.” And he left her.

Skye began to weep, a combination of frustration, anger, and
fear. Great, gulping sobs of anguish poured hot and salty from her
eyes until they were almost swollen shut. Molly, finding her young
mistress in this shocking state, turned about and sought the lady
Eibhlin. The young nun came instantly and, taking her younger sister
into her loving arms, tried to soothe her. When the sobs had finally
abated, Eibhlin laid her sister back on her pillows and mixed some
herbs in a goblet of wine that she made Skye drink. The medication
would soothe her. Eibhlin had seen cases of bridal nerves before.

Next the nun took soft pads of linen soaked in rose water, and
lay them on Skye’s closed eyes.

“It will take the swelling down,” she told Molly. “We’ll let her
rest for half an hour, then dress her for the wedding.”

Very soon thereafter, Skye O’Malley stood beside Dom O’Flaherty
in the castle’s candlelit chapel and was wed. All the guests agreed
that there had never been a more beautiful bride. Her gown was of
creamy white satin with a deep, square neck edged in a wide ruffle
of silver lace. The low neckline gave the groom a fine view of her
breasts, and Dom O’Flaherty licked his lips in anticipation at the
sight of small, pink nipples.

As the elderly priest intoned the ancient Latin words of the cer-
emony over them, the bridegroom thought lasciviously of how he
would pillow his head tonight on those soft breasts. When she raised her hand to receive the marriage ring, Dom noted the richness of
her gown for the first time. The sleeves were slashed, the inserts
filled with silver lace. This lace also edged the wrists. Her beautiful
Mack hair was unbound, in recognition of her innocence, and topped
by a simple wreath of sweetly scented white flowers.

She was whiter than her gown, and had Dom bothered to look
closer, he would have seen the helpless, trapped look in her eyes.
The drug given her by her sister forced her to comply with the farce.
Her responses were so low that they could barely be heard, and she
moved like a puppet. Her family assumed it was bridal nerves.

They were pronounced man and wife. They turned to face their
families and, at that moment, the chapel doors were flung open,
revealing Niall Burke, his face anguished, his eyes stark with a pain
that only she could understand. Skye simply wanted to die.

“Kiss the bride! Kiss the bride!” came the ribald shouts.

Dom O’Flaherty turned Skye so that she faced him. “Now,” he
said triumphantly, “you belong to me!” His mouth found hers. He
forced his tongue between her soft lips and into her mouth. Around
them came the crude cries of encouragement. The tongue was soft,
and demanding. Seeking to escape this horror, Skye fainted.

“Ho!” shouted Dubhdara O’Malley, well pleased. “Here’s fine
proof of my lass’s innocence! Her first kiss and she swoons! Loosen
her laces, lad. You’re no stranger to women’s clothes, or so I’m
told.”

While the laughter that greeted O’Malley’s sally echoed around
the chapel, Dom O’Flaherty picked up his bride and carried her from
the room. Helplessly Niall Burke watched as the unconscious Skye
was borne back to her room. He wanted to hit the smug young man
who cradled Skye in his arms with such obvious pride of ownership.

For the first time in his life, the heir to one of the most powerful
families in Ireland had been thwarted. For the last three days Niall
had tried unsuccessfully to see the O’Malley, but Dubhdara had been
unavailable to his guests because of his young wife’s lying in. Under
the circumstances, Niall hadn’t expected them to marry Skye off so
quickly. He had thought he had time to speak with the O’Malley.
Though the situation would have been embarrassing, there would
have been no real disgrace in O’Malley exchanging the heir to Ballyhennessey for the heir to the MacWilliam of Mayo.

Niall pushed, along with the family, into the bedchamber. Dom
laid his burden upon the bed. With nimble fingers the bridegroom
loosened the girl’s laces. Momentarily forgetful of his audience,
Dom caressed the soft, creamy swell of Skye’s breast. The hunger
in his pale-blue eyes was unmistakable, and Niall felt a murderous
rage well up in him.

“Now, now, my son, we’ll have none of that until tonight,”
chuckled O’Malley. “Your bride’s got to be able to stand for all the
toasts that’ll be drunk at the feast, and she’ll be in no condition if
you have her now.”

O’Flaherty flushed amid the leers and snickers. Then Eibhlin
pushed through the crowd to Skye’s side and, kneeling, began to
rub the girl’s wrists. “Molly-the wine, please. And a burnt feather.
Da, it would help if all these people left. You too, brother Dom.
If Skye is to be up to enjoy her own wedding feast, she must rest
now.”

The room slowly emptied, and Eibhlin and Molly raised Skye up.
First the feather was burnt and waved beneath her nose, then the
drugged wine was forced between her lips. Skye coughed, choked,
and opened her eyes. “You fainted,” said the nun drily.

“He… he put his tongue in my mouth, Eibhlin,” said Skye,
visibly shocked. “He… he said that I belong to him.”

“You do.”

‘No! Never to Dom O’Flaherty! Never to any man!”

Eibhlin turned. “You may leave us,” she told the reluctant Molly.
Then Eibhlin said quietly, “It’s Niall Burke, isn’t it, Skye? Dear
Lord, he didn’t take your virginity?”

Miserably, Skye shook her head. “He wanted to wed with me,
Eibhlin. He was to speak with Da.”

“But he didn’t, or if he did Da said no. You’re married to Dom
O’Flaherty, Skye. You must face it. It is your duty to be a good
wife to him. He loves you and he is your lord in the eyes of the
Church.”

“I cannot, Eibhlin! I simply cannot! I hate Dom, and I can’t bear
his touch.”

“Some women are like that, Skye. Perhaps you are one.”

“No! When Niall Burke kissed me it was perfect! I wanted him!
The way a woman wants a man… in marriage. But I don’t feel mat
way about Dom.”

“Go to sleep, little one,” said the nun soothingly. “In a few hours’
time you must hostess your wedding feast.”

Sighing, Skye lay back. The herbs were doing their work, and
suddenly she fell asleep, her face still wet with tears. Eibhlin shook
her head. What on earth possessed Da to insist on this marriage,
knowing Skye was so against it? He had always indulged his young-
est daughter, adoring her lavish beauty, delighting in her love of the
sea. He had never before forced her into something.

Eibhlin speculated. Perhaps their father wanted the last of Peigi
O’Malley’s daughters out of his house so that he could be free to
enjoy his second wife, and his five sons. At any rate, though she would never admit it to Skye, the nun shared her sister’s dislike of
O’Flaherty. He was stubborn, far too vain, and for all his fine
education, woefully ignorant. Eibhlin sighed. There was simply no
help for it. It was a man’s world, and a decent woman was either
a wife or a nun. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, it would be different
someday. Eibhlin went back to the chapel to pray for her sister.
There was nothing else she could do.

When Skye awoke several hours later, the terrible reality of her
situation swept over her once more. Her knowledge of men was
limited, but she instinctively understood that her husband was the
sort of man who preyed on the weak and helpless. Dom liked win-
ning. She must not let him know how upset she was.

Slowly she rose from the bed, feeling just slightly dizzy, and
bathed her face in rose water. Still unlaced, she breathed deeply,
clearing her head. She whirled at the sound of the door behind her,
furious that her privacy was to be so quickly disturbed. “How dare
you enter my chamber!”

He smiled lazily. “You forget, Skye pet, that I have the right to
enter your chamber whenever I choose to do so. I am your husband.”

She shivered. “I forget nothing, Dom,” she bravely answered.
He moved toward her, and her courage cracked. “Don’t come near
me!” She backed away from him, but he kept on until she felt the
edge of the bed against the backs of her legs. The look in his eyes
terrified her, and she had to force herself to stand straight, to look
directly at him. She could hear the sound of her own heart drumming
in her ears.

“Your maiden shyness pleases me-to a point, Skye.” His hand
caressed her cheek, slid down her neck to her shoulder, then gripped
the soft flesh. “I am your husband and I will brook no disobedience
from you. Your father has spoiled you badly, but I will not. I will
school you as I do the bitches in my kennel, and you will do your
duty by me. When you err, I shall punish you. Do you understand
me, Skye?”

“Yes, Dom.” Her eyes were lowered in apparent compliance, but
really to hide her smoldering hatred.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening a little. “Now come here to
me, pet.” He took her chin between his fingers and forced her head
up. His wet mouth ground on hers, and his tongue forced itself
between her clenched teeth. She shivered with revulsion. The wet
lips were on her throat. He pushed her onto the bed and, atop her,
pulled down her gown, exposing the small, perfect breasts. His
mouth opened to capture a little pink nipple, and she screamed.

He stopped, raised his eyes, and looked down on her. “Please
Dom, we must face our guests.” Groaning with frustration, he stood up slowly and, giving her a venomous look, stumbled from the
room.

Outside in the hallway he stopped a moment to catch his breath,
to massage the ache in his groin. She was right, damn her! He didn’t
dare take her until tonight, but he needed to cool the fire in his loins!
At that moment his wife’s buxom maid came around the corner.

Dom O’Flaherty’s blue eyes narrowed speculatively, and a quick
winning smile lit his features. Molly stopped, eyed him, and instantly
ascertained his need. Wordlessly she took his hand and led him
around the corner into a darkened alcove. She loosened his codpiece,
and gasped with delight. “Oh, my Lord! You’ll more than do!” Her
arms slid up around his neck and she whispered excitedly, “Give
us a kiss, love.” He bent to find her mouth, all the while fumbling
to raise her petticoats. He backed her up against the stone castle
wall, and Molly wrapped her legs about his waist. Clasping the
plump cheeks of her buttocks in his hands, Dom O’Flaherty buried
himself deep in the servant girl’s willing warmth. He worked himself
back and forth, not caring that he was banging her head against the
wall. She moaned, half with pleasure and half with pain. He obtained
his release quickly. Molly was set back down on her feet and,
straightening his garments, O’Flaherty left her without so much as
a word or a glance. Molly slipped to the floor, whimpering.

Skye, who seldom prayed outside church, was thanking every
saint in the calendar for her temporary reprieve. Tonight there would
be no reprieve. She would be forced to submit to whatever it was
men did with women. She had some vague ideas, but her sisters had
never discussed sex, and Anne had not gotten around to enlightening
her. She was going to be at Dom’s mercy.

She took her brush and removed the tangles from her hair. Then,
smoothing the wrinkles from her wedding gown, Skye opened the
door and left her room. Dom appeared from the darkness and, arm
in arm, they descended into the hall below to greet their guests.

The festivities had begun without them, and a cry went up as they
entered. Dubhdara O’Malley, already half drunk, lurched forward
and escorted his daughter and her new husband to the high board.
Skye was horrified to find herself with her husband on her right and
Lord Burke on her left.

“Good evening, Mistress O’Flaherty. My best wishes on your
future happiness,” he said formally.

“Thank you, my lord,” she answered. She dared not look at him
lest she begin to weep again, but her hand shook as she reached for
her goblet. Noting this, his heart contracted painfully.

The O’Malley of Innisfana had spared no expense. Huge bowls
of raw oysters, platters of prawns and shrimp boiled in white wine and herbs, were set on all the tables. Whole sea trout broiled and
stuffed, first with salmon then with smaller fresh-water trout, and
finally with small shellfish, were placed at intervals on the tables.
The bridegroom stuffed himself with raw oysters, loudly reminding
everyone of their aphrodisiac quality.

The next course consisted of whole swans, capons in a lemon-
ginger sauce, larded ducks, plump golden broiled pigeons, whole
baby lambs, sides of half-cooked beef dripping their fat and bloody
juices, potted rabbits, small pasties of minced meats, bowls of new
lettuces and small green onions in vinegar, silver trenchers of bread
and crocks of sweet butter. No one went thirsty, for silver pitchers
of wine, both red and white, and earthenware pitchers of ale were
placed on all the tables and kept filled.

The last course consisted of shaped jellies in all colors, custards,
fruit pies, wheels of sharp cheeses, sweet cherries from France, and
oranges from Spain. The chef, hired for the occasion, had done
himself splendid credit with a magnificent marzipan confection. Its
top decoration depicted a married couple, the bridegroom’s codpiece
conspicuously large, the bride with a coy smile upon her face, her
eyes fixed on the bulge.

Toast after toast was drunk. Some were ribald, some thoughtful.
Finally Dom O’Flaherty turned to his bride. “Go prepare yourself
for me, pet. I am well fed by your father’s gracious bounty. Now
I would feast on your sweet flesh.”

Her cheeks reddened and she shivered. “I must bathe,” she an-
swered. “There was no time this morning.”

“How long?”

“An hour.”

“Half, Skye. I will be denied no longer.”

She stood, and immediately a shout went up. Gathering her skirts
up, Skye fled the hall followed by her sisters and, behind them, a
group of laughing young men. If they caught the bride or any of her
maids, they would be allowed a kiss as forfeit. With incredible
swiftness the O’Malley sisters gained Skye’s chamber-where the
young couple would spend their wedding night-and slammed the
door, successfully shutting out the young men.

Before the fireplace a small steaming tub of water stood ready.

Skye looked gratefully to her servant. “Bless you, Molly, you
anticipated me.”

“Knew you didn’t have time before,” replied the maid, helping
Skye undress. The sisters busied themselves putting Skye’s beautiful
gown away and straightening the chamber. Sine took the warming
pan and ran it smoothly beneath the bedcovers. “Nothing cools a
man’s ardor like cold sheets,” she observed.

Skye kept her mind on her bath. If she allowed herself to think
of what was coming she would go to pieces. She glanced about her
bedchamber. Aside from the flowering branches placed there in
keeping with the old pagan fertility ritual, it seemed the same. The
large black oak bedstead, hung with azure blue velvet, had been
freshly made with fine linen sheets redolent of lavender. The tall
matching armoire was now empty, of course, her clothing having
been packed for transport to her new home. She washed quickly,
stepping out of her tub into a warmed towel. Her lovely body was
rosy from the heat of the water. Molly quickly dried her and lavishly
applied scented powder with a lamb’s wool puff. The sisters sneezed.
as the excess filled the air.

“Open the window a bit,” commanded Moire. “And fetch the silk
robe, Molly.”

Skye flushed. “Oh, no, Moire!,Not that, for pity’s sake.”

“Skye!” Moire’s voice was sharp. “It’s an O’Malley family cus-
tom, and we have all followed it. Lord, sister, you’re the fairest of
us all. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, lass.”

“But for all those leering men to see me naked!”

“We O’Malleys are proud to show we come to our husbands
unblemished. You will follow the custom as we all have.” The silk
robe was loosely wrapped around the bride, and then Moire said,
”Peigi, unbolt the door. I hear the men coming.”

Peigi had no sooner stepped back from the door when it burst
open and the laughing guests poured into the little room. Dom
O’Flaherty had already been partially disrobed by his friends. Dubhdara

O’Malley stepped up to his youngest daughter. He was very
drunk, but he could yet play his part.

He held his hand up for silence, and the room quieted. “This is
the last of me daughters to be wed. As with all my girls. I am proud
to show that she comes unblemished, and free of pock marks, to her
bridegroom.” He nodded to Moire and Peigi, who drew the simple
robe from Skye and let it slip to the floor. The girl was now com-
pletely naked. As she turned, the sisters held up Skye’s long dark
tresses to show the assembled guests that nothing was hidden beneath
her hair. In the candlelight, her beautiful body glowed like mother-
of-pearl.

An audible sigh rippled through the room as the men and women
admired and envied the young virgin’s perfection. The bridegroom
was visibly affected. Skye was exquisite, with her small, pink-tipped
breasts, her slim, long legs ending in slender, high-arched feet.

Suddenly the guests were thrown into shock as Niall Burke pushed
forward, boldly allowed his silver eyes to slide over the bride, and announced, “O’Malley! As your overlord I claim the droit du seigneur of this woman.”

The master of Innisfana swallowed hard. “A poor jest, my lord,”
he replied, now very sober. He was hoping to God that Burke was
only drunk, but he knew Burke wasn’t. “My daughter’s no peasant
wench,” he stated firmly.

Lord Burke drew himself up to his full imposing height. His
proud glance swept the room. “I am your overlord, Dubhdara
O’Malley. You swore obedience to me on my tenth birthday. It was
by my most generous hand that you received this barony of Innisfana.
Our laws demand that you comply with my request.”

“No!” shouted Dom. “She’s mine! Mine! And I am not your
vassal.”

Lord Burke looked scornfully at the younger man. “I will remind
you, O’Flaherty, that your family owes obedience to my father-
whose deputy I am. I claim the droit du seigneur of your bride. Will
either of you gentlemen endanger your families and insult me over
a girl’s maidenhead? Besides, O’Flaherty, when I am finished
schooling her she’ll be much more to your taste. You are not, I
understand, very good with virgins.”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the room. Dubhdara
O’Malley shifted uncomfortably. Then suddenly it came to him that
the final decision rested with his new son-in-law. “I yield to you,
my lord,” he said quickly, nearly sighing with relief.

The complete silence in the hot little room was finally broken by
Dom’s voice. “I’ll pay a penalty, my lord,” said Dom. “You have
but to name it.”

Niall Burke eyed Dom arrogantly, then drawled, “Your life, or
the wench’s maidenhead.”

A gasp went up. This was high drama, the sort of thing that
would be spoken of for years to come in both the halls and hovels
of Ireland. Why was Lord Burke so intent on having the bride? To
be sure, she was a lovely creature, but it was very rare for an overlord
to claim the droit du seigneur of a vassal’s bride.

Dom O’Flaherty whitened, then reddened, with fear and helpless
rage. His eyes swept over Skye, then back to Lord Burke. He pictured
them locked in an embrace. Damn the bastard! thought Dom. He’s
got me trapped! At last he said savagely, “I yield. And damn you
to hell, my lord Burke!” Turning, he stamped from the chamber,
followed quickly by the O’Malley and the rest of the guests.

Niall Burke walked slowly to the door of the room and, shutting
it, slammed the bolt home. Turning back, he looked at Skye.
Throughout the whole exchange, she had remained as silent and still as a hiding rabbit. “I do mean to take you,” he said quietly.

Her eyes were enormous, blue-green against her white face. “I
know,” she answered softly. “You’ll have to tell me what to do. No
one has ever told me what is required, and I am very ignorant. Anne
didn’t have time to explain,” she finished helplessly.

A warm smile lit his features, and he was suddenly her Niall
again. “I think, sweetheart,” he said in a kindly voice, “that the first
thing would be to get you into bed. You look chilled.” With a
sweeping movement he pulled the covers back and, scooping her
up, gently tucked her beneath the down coverlet.

“Kiss me, Niall.” It was a simple request, and it was also the
first time she had called him by his name.

“I have every intention of doing just that, Skye. Give me but a
moment to divest myself of my clothes.”

“Please, now!”

Had she been anyone else he would have made a ribald jest. She
was so intense. So urgent. Instead he bent, kissed the lips she offered.
It was a sweet kiss, and they were both loath to stop, but finally she
drew away. “I had to be sure it would be as lovely with you this
time as it was the last. When Dom kissed me today I wanted to die
because he revolted me so.”

“And is it still as lovely, my darling?” His silvery eyes caressed
her warmly.

“Yes, Niall. It is still lovely.”

Thoughtfully, without haste, he removed his clothes and approached the bed. “Have you ever seen a man naked before, Skye?
The firelight from the small corner fireplace flickered across his bare
body.

“Only the top part. The sailors often strip their shirts off when
it gets too hot. I’ve seen bare feet, and part of the leg too.” Her
eyes slowly traveled the length of him, lingering a moment on his
sex, then blushingly moving upward.

He grinned mischievously at her. “I trust I meet with your com-
plete approval, sweetheart,” he teased, climbing into bed with her.

Her heart-shaped face was very serious. “I don’t understand how
it works.”

“Let me worry about that,” he answered. Taking her into his
arms, he rolled her beneath him. “Ah, Skye! Sweet Skye! I have
dared much for you, my darling.” His mouth found hers again, but
this time it was different. His lips teased, playing lightly across her
mouth, her fluttering eyelids, her forehead, cheeks, chin, and lastly 
the tip of her nose.

The shock of his sweet assault left her slightly breathless, and
she was certainly not ready for the warm hand that gently cupped her breast. “Oh!” Then, “Oh, Niall, I am sorry I am so small,” she
apologized shyly, unable to meet his warm gaze.

“You are perfection, Skye. See how sweetly your breast nestles
into my hand? It is like a little white dove.” He bent his dark head
and kissed the pink peak, pleased that it hardened almost immediately
beneath his lips.

Gently he pressed her back among the pillows, lightly straddling
her. His warm mouth now pressed kisses all across her trembling
breasts, taking pleasure in her rapid rise to passion. Her beautiful
hair billowed shining and dark across the white linen pillows. Head
thrown back to reveal the slender column of her throat, she tempted
the warm lips to leave a string of burning kisses down the quivering
flesh.

His big hands slipped over her torso, enjoying the silken skin.
Suddenly Skye was afire, and she moaned helplessly, frightened.
Her body felt liquid. She was languid, yet filled with a great strength
at the same time. His voice murmured soft and reassuring words of
love.

Still she gasped softly, surprised as his fingers gently explored
her, probing tenderly, forcing the tension from her body. Then she
became aware of a new touch, that of his manhood, hard against
her soft leg. Gently his knee nudged her thighs apart. The pulsing
root of him touched the tip of her womanhood, and in a sweet haze
of fear and desire she heard him say, “It will hurt you just once,
Skye. After that there will never be pain again, my love.”

“Yes! Yes! Oh, please, yes!” she panted, not even knowing what
it was that she sought, but desperately wanting it. A deep, burning
pain quickly receded, leaving her filled with a wonderful, throbbing
warmth. His silvery eyes met her blue ones, and passion mirrored
passion as he loved her. For a moment they hung suspended in time
and then she cried out her pleasure as his hardness broke, filling her
with his creamy juices.

After a few breathless minutes he rolled away and cradled her in
his arms. He stroked her hair, marveling at its soft density. When
he spoke again his velvety voice held the faintest hint of a tremor.
”Thank you, Skye, my little love. Thank you for the most precious
gift a man can receive from a maiden.”

She moved so that she could see his face, her new womanhood
making her brave. “I have waited all my life for you, Niall Burke.
Do not leave me now, for I should sooner be your leman than Dom
O’Flaherty’s wife. I would go where you go.”

He sighed. “I cannot let you go now, Skye. We will get your
marriage annulled based on your adultery with me. I have no inten-
tion of returning you to O’Flaherty. We will leave for my father’s castle in the morning. Your husband is a vain peacock. A fat financial
settlement and a new and noble bride should soothe his swollen
pride.”

“You will not leave me?” Her eyes were shining with happiness.
”Oh, Niall! I love you! I love you so much!”

“God, sweetheart, I adore you!” He kissed her hard. “I love you
too, my darling. I love you!”

Their bodies melted together once more. Skye was completely
overwhelmed by these new and delicious stormy sensations sweeping
over her. Her body responded to his every touch, eagerly seeking
each new thrill.

He lay on his back and, lifting her, lay her atop him. Her blushes
delighted him. Shyly she hid her face in his shoulder. He chuckled.
”Nay, sweetheart, now you must love me.”

“But Niall, I don’t know how,” she protested.

‘Touch me, Skye. It’s the best start.”

She sat up, her legs on either side of his torso. She couldn’t quite
meet his gaze yet. Shyly she touched his chest with a trembling
hand. The dark mat of hair was soft, his skin smooth and warm.
Her hand moved to his shoulder, then down his well-muscled sword
arm. In a sudden bold move she leaned forward and brushed his
cheek with her breast. Niall softly caught his breath and waited for
her next move. Slowly she rubbed his face and then a hard little
nipple was against his lips. It was now Skye’s turn to gasp as she
found the taut little peak in the warmness of his mouth. His tongue
teased it, sending darts of fire through her. She wriggled, eyes half
closed.

His arms came up around her, and she once more found herself
on her back. He caught her hand and drew it down to his manhood.
Unbidden she caressed him with devastating effect. He groaned into
the dark and tangled night of her hair. The clean, heathery smell of
her soap, the warm woman scent of her body maddened him. Again
he slid his great sword into her sweet sheath.

Sighing, she took as much of him to herself as she could. Her
arms held him as tightly as his held her.

“Put your legs about me, my darling. I cannot have enough of
you.” His voice was strange, fierce and husky. Obeying, she cried
out softly as she felt him drive deeper into her soft body. The world
about her exploded into a whirlpool of pleasure upon pleasure. It
could get no better, and yet it did-with each smooth thrust.

“Niall! Oh, Niall, I die!” she finally sobbed, seemingly unable
to bear any more. He was experienced enough to control their spiraling rise, but he could not stop loving her. “Just a little more,
Skye. Ah, God! You’re so sweet! I don’t want to stop!” he muttered thickly. “No! No! Don’t stop! Please, no!” she whispered back
frantically. She did not want to leave this marvelous world. Deeper!
Deeper! Faster! Faster! They were lost in each other. As they climaxed together she gave a long wail, half in joy, half in sorrow.

Gathering her to him, he crooned low, “Ah, Skye! Sweet Skye!
You are perfection, my little love. Pure perfection! I love you so,
sweetheart.”

Her blue-green eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but they shone
with love. “Give me a son, Niall!” she whispered fiercely.

Tenderly he stroked her cheek. “In time, my darling. In time.
Now sleep, Skye, my love. In the morning we will face the world
with the shocking news mat we would be together. We will need
to be well rested to meet the uproar that’s sure to follow.”

“You meant it when you said you wouldn’t leave me?” Her voice
trembled.

“Aye, sweetheart! Only the devil himself can separate us now,
Skye.”

“I’d go with you into Hell itself, Niall,” she answered passion-
ately.

At last, enclosed in each other’s arms, they fell asleep, trusting
the power of their love.

Chapter 3

In the gray half-light before dawn Niall Burke and Skye lay
sleeping. Heart hammering, the little pot boy crawled through
the unshuttered window and for a brief moment stared quite
openmouthed at the two people lying on the bed. Both were
naked. The man was on his stomach, face down, his arm flung
across the woman. She was curled on her side. The pot boy, who
was rarely freed from his kitchen, thought the two were the most
beautiful sight he had ever seen. He felt saddened at what he must
do. The woman stirred in her sleep and, guiltily recalling his duty,
the boy tiptoed across the room. Softly sliding the bolt back, he
opened the door.

Dubhdara O’Malley and three of his men-at-arms came silently
into the room. O’Malley nodded to his retainers. Niall Burke was
swiftly pulled off the bed, a cloth stuffed into his mouth. Then he was half-dragged, half-carried out of the room, the door shut softly
but firmly behind him. Fiercely Niall struggled against his captors,
who hustled him down into the main hall of the castle. He was not
afraid, for he knew that if it had been his life they sought he would
already be dead.

“You’ll not yell, my lord?” O’Malley asked him when they en-
tered a room down the hall.

Niall shook his head. His arms were freed and the gag was pulled
from his mouth. He took up the goblet of ale placed at his hand.
Drinking it, he began to dress in his clothes, which the little pot boy
had thoughtfully brought along. Niall Burke was furious, but arguing
with the O’Malley stark naked put him at a disadvantage. His an-
tagonist spoke first.

“You will be on your way immediately, my lord. Young
O’Flaherty has spent an unhappy night, drinking and abusing Skye’s
maid. The sight of you now could drive him to rashness. I should
not like to answer to the MacWilliam if his heir were harmed.”

Niall yanked on his boots. “I want Skye’s marriage annulled,
O’Malley! For three days I tried to get to you, to ask you to call off
this marriage. I love Skye, and she loves me. I want her to wife.
I’ll see that O’Flaherty is pacified with a new bride and a large bribe.
Why do you think I did what I did last night? To amuse myself,
man? I love your daughter, O’Malley, and I hope my action will
force O’Flaherty to give her up.”

Dubhdara O’Malley looked amazed. “Laddie, laddie! If I have
nothing else in this world I have my good name and my good word.
The word of Dubhdara O’Malley has never been questioned because
it is as good as gold. I have never broken my word! I will not do
so now. Skye was betrothed to Dom as a child. Even if I had
postponed the marriage, your father would not permit you to marry
an O’Malley of Innisfana. For you, it will be an O’Neill, an
O’Donnell, or an O’Brien-daughters of the high aristocracy. Not
my little lass.”

Niall’s silver eyes flashed. “She is fit to be a queen, O’Malley!”

“Ah, laddie, you’ll get no argument from me on that account!
But my daughter is Dom O’Flaherty’s wife till death parts them.
You’ve exercised the droit du seigneur on the bride. There is nothing
else here for you. Go home. Leave me to mend the broken fences,
and my child’s broken heart.”

“I will not leave without Skye, O’Malley! She comes with me!”

The master of the castle barely nodded to his men. Niall Burke
was tapped lightly on his head, rendering him unconscious. “Carry
him to the boat, and tell Captain MacGuire to take him home.

MacGuire’s to put this letter directly into the MacWilliam’s hand,
and await a reply,” O’Malley said tersely.

O’Malley sat watching a moment as his most honored guest was
slung over the shoulder of one of his men and removed from the
hall. Then, without a backward glance, O’Malley returned to his
daughter’s bedchamber. He shook her awake gently’. “Skye, lass!
Wake up now.”

Slowly her blue eyes opened, then widened in surprise. “Da?”
Her gaze quickly swept the room, and her voice became a frightened
whisper. “Niall?”

“Gone, Skye. Niall Burke has gone home.”

“No! He promised we would never be parted! He promised!”

“Men frequently make promises in the heat of passion that they
have no intention of keeping,” said the O’Malley brutally. “Get up
and get dressed, daughter. You’ll go with Eibhlin to her convent on
Innishturk until Dom’s temper cools, and we’re sure you don’t carry
Burke’s bastard. I’ll send someone to help you dress.”

“You’re lying to me, Da! What have you done with Niall?”

“I’m not lying, Skye. Burke has gone home.”

“Where’s Molly?”

“She’s sick this morning,” O’Malley said as he left the room.

Skye sat numbed. He had promised they would not be parted!
He had meant it! She knew he had meant it! Where was he? Had
they killed him? Oh, God, no! She began to tremble. No. Of course
they hadn’t killed him. Her father would not kill his overlord’s heir.

Perhaps, said an evil voice in her head, perhaps he is telling you
the truth. After all, your experience with men is not great. Perhaps
the great lord’s heir has amused himself with you, and has now gone
back to his own. Her heart began to hammer fiercely, and for a
moment she thought she would faint. Then, from deep inside, Skye
called on the reservoir of strength she had built up over the years.
If she listened to doubt she would go mad. She must trust to her
intuition. Skye O’Malley would not give in to panic.

Climbing from the bed, she walked naked across the chamber and
drew her clothing from a leather-bound trunk. She began to dress,
first pulling on her underclothes, then a skirtlike object. This garment
was a design of Skye’s own fashioning. O’Malley had objected to
his daughter wearing men’s clothing, but Skye had felt hampered
aboard ship by long skirts. So she had made her skirts into wide
pants that came below the knee. Beneath, she wore hose and knee-length leather boots. She had cut her chemises off at the waist,
hemmed them, and worn them beneath her silk shirts.

Washed and dressed, her long black hair braided and affixed atop her head, she gathered up a dark plaid cloak and left the room. She
found a man-at-arms waiting, and directed him to fetch the small
trunk in her room and see it safely stowed in the waiting boat.

Regally, she descended the stairs. Below, in the castle’s main
hall, her father, her sister Eibhlin, and Dom awaited her. Dom looked
terrible. His eyes were badly bloodshot and puffy, and his face was
marked with several scratches and bruises. She steeled herself for
the confrontation. “Good morning, Dom.” He eyed her angrily,
nodded, but said nothing. She shrugged, then turned to her father.
”I am ready to go, Da, but before I do I want to know the truth.
Niall would not have left me unless forced.”

Dom O’Flaherty’s light-blue eyes widened, then narrowed. He
turned to his father-in-law. “What the hell treachery is this,
O’Malley? It’s bad enough that Burke demanded the droit du seigneur of my bride before the entire district. Now it appears she was
in collusion with him!” He whirled on Skye. “You little bitch! How
long has it been going on? How long have you been whoring with
Burke? I ought to beat you black and blue!”

Skye eyed her husband coldly. Her voice was calm and level.
”I met Niall but a few days ago, Dom. Yes, we are in love. I do
not understand how it happened, but it did. I do not particularly like
you, Dom, but I would not have hurt or embarrassed you deliber-
ately. Niall Burke wants to marry me. Give me an annulment. You
don’t love me. Niall will arrange for you to have a new and noble
bride, and a fat financial settlement to soothe your wounded pride.”

Dom looked as if she had lost her mind. “Have you given me a
half-wit to wife, O’Malley?” He turned on Skye. “Listen, you little
fool! The MacWilliam isn’t about to let his heir marry with the likes
of you. Niall Burke is a rake. He wanted only to fuck with you,
which I’ve no doubt he did quite well if his reputation is warranted.
It’s over! Now you’ll go with Eibhlin to Innishturk until I’m sure
Burke’s seed did not take root. When you come home to me, Skye,
you’ll be a proper wife-like me or no-and you’ll go no more
awhoring. Get out of my sight now, woman!”

“Da!”

“Obey your husband, Skye. He is your master now.”

“Never!”

Dom O’Flaherty leaped the distance between them and, grasping
Skye by the arm, slapped her brutally several times. Shocked, for
her father had never hit her, she could only try and protect herself
from his blows. “Whore! I warned you what would happen if you
disobeyed me!” He shook her hard. Furious and fearful both, Skye
pulled away angrily.

“Whoreson!” she hissed. “Hit me again and I’ll stick a knife into
your black heart!”

“Enough!” roared O’Malley, stepping between the two. “Enough,
Dom!” His voice was sharp. “Eibhlin, take your sister to the boat,
and go”

Skye’s eyes were almost black in anger. “I’ll not forgive you for.
this, Da,” she said quietly. Shooting him a look of pure hatred, she
left the hall with her sister.

Outside, the day was chill and gray. The wind whipped the
women’s cloaks about them as they hurried across the drawbridge
and through the rose garden. For a moment Skye stopped. Her eyes
softened and swam with tears. Plucking a red rose, she inhaled its
fragrance, sighed, and continued on her way, carefully picking her
way down the path that led from the cliff top to the damp beach
below. A sailboat and two of her father’s men waited on the beach.
She could see her trunk already in the boat. One of the men helped
Eibhlin into the little craft. Skye brushed aid aside, clambering up
into the craft and seating herself in the stern. She took a firm grip
on the tiller. While one sailor pushed the boat from the damp sand,
the other hoisted the sail.

The sailor Connor grinned, nodded, and sat back when Skye took
the tiller. They’d be at Innishturk Island in a jig time, for no one
could sail a boat like Mistress Skye. The other sailor, newer to
O’Malley’s service, sat silently.

Skye tacked the boat smartly across the castle’s sheltered cove
and nosed it into the open sea. The day was turning fair, and there
was a good breeze. The small boat skimmed across the deep blue
waves. Innishturk, but a few nautical miles away, was easily visible.
Skye carefully set her course to bring the craft in on the piece of
coast closest to Eibhlin’s convent.

Eibhlin wanted desperately to talk to her, but Skye suddenly
looked older, and very forbidding. The young nun was suddenly
sad. What could she possibly say to cheer her sister? What did you
say to a woman forcibly married to one man when she deeply loved
another? Once again, Eibhlin felt the frustration of being a woman
in a man’s world. Again she asked herself why it was so.

Then Eibhlin saw a terrible bruise beginning to form on Skye’s
left cheekbone. Silently the nun dipped her handkerchief in the icy
cold sea and, squeezing it out, wordlessly handed it to her sister.
A brief smile was her thanks, as Skye took the wet cloth and held
it to her injured face.

Innishturk came closer, then closer, and soon the little boat was
scudding up onto the beach. Eibhlin was lifted out. In her element now, she commanded, “Bring Mistress Skye’s trunk, Connor. Padraic, you stay with the boat.”

“Yes, Sister.” “Aye, Sister.”

Skye swung herself over the side of the boat and dropped lightly
to the sand. She knew the way quite well, for she had often come
with her father to see Eibhlin. Silently she trudged up the path from
the beach. At the cliff top she undid a small wicket gate, and held
it open for her sister and the panting Connor. The gate swung shut,
and they were on the convent grounds.

Ahead of them stood St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, built over one
hundred years before. The convent was built around a quadrangle,
the four towers of its corners rising stark against the sky. The dark
gray stones of the main building were weathered by the wind and
the sea. There were several outbuildings for the convent livestock,
a bakehouse and a washhouse. At the convent portal-a double
oaken door bounded in brass-they stopped.

“Connor will have to wait here,” said Eibhlin. “I’ll send someone
to bring your trunk.”

“I’ll wait with him,” said Skye quietly. “If I am to be cloistered
for a month I’d just as soon postpone my captivity.”

Eibhlin did not argue. She pulled on the bell. When it was an-
swered by the portress, she entered hurriedly.

Alone with Skye, Connor observed, “Strange place for a hon-
eymoon if you ask me.”

“I didn’t!” snapped Skye, “but it’s as good a place as any when
you’re wed to the wrong man. Repeat that, you old gossip, and I’m
sure to be beaten for it.”

“The O’Malley never laid a hand on you in your life, lass!”

“No, he didn’t, but the little bastard he’s married me to did. The
bruise on my cheek is a mark of his affection.”

Connor saw nothing wrong with a man occasionally giving his
woman a clout to keep her in line, but he was truly shocked mat a
bridegroom would beat his bride of one day. Mistress Skye was not
just any lass. She was special. Besides, he was related to her maid,
Molly, who’d barely survived her night with O’Flaherty. Better to
warn the young mistress.

“I’d best say this straight out, lass, so’s you’ll be on your guard.
O’Flaherty took Molly to his bed last night. Fair killed her too.
Made her do all kinds of things no decent man would ask of a
woman. Then he beat her half to death and kicked her out. When
you’ve got to go back to him, be careful.”

Skye’s face betrayed no emotion. “Will Molly be all right?”

“Her bruises will heal.”

‘Tell her if she chooses not to serve me anymore I’ll understand.
If that is her decision she may remain at the castle to serve my
stepmother. Tell the lady Anne that I will need a stout serving woman
of middle years and plain countenance. If I am forced to return to
him, I would not expose another young girl to O’Flaherty.”

The convent portal creaked open again and Eibhlin came forward,
escorted by two stout nuns. Skye bid Connor farewell, then followed
her sister through the door. Her trunk would be brought in by the
other nuns.

The two sisters walked silently through the long hallway until
they came to a heavy oak door. Eibhlin rapped on the door. A voice
bid them enter, and they obeyed.

Seated in a chair was one of the most beautiful women Skye had
ever seen. Her oval face was serene beneath the white wimple, with
its starched and pleated white wings. Her black habit was relieved
of its severity by a stiff white rectangle of a bib upon which rested
an ebony crucifix banded in silver, a silver lily on its face. Kneeling,
Eibhlin caught the aristocratic hand and kissed the silver-and-onyx
ring of office.

“Rise, my daughter,” came a cool, cultivated voice.

“Reverend Mother, may I present my sister, Skye. Skye, this is
the Reverend Mother Ethna.”

“Thank you, Sister Eibhlin. You may return to your duties now.
Mistress Monahan from our village went into labor this morning,
and you have our permission to attend her.”

Eibhlin bowed herself out, and the Reverend Mother Ethna waved
Skye to a chair. “Welcome to St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, Lady
O’Flaherty. Your father has already apprised us of the reason for
your visit. We will endeavor to make you as comfortable as pos-
sible.”

“Thank you,” Skye said tonelessly.

Quiet brown eyes surveyed Skye, and the nun appeared to be
debating with herself. Then she said, “I was Ethna O’Neill before
I took the veil. It was my niece to whom Lord Burke was betrothed.
She never knew him, but I did. He has a most winning way about
him.” A small smile played about the corners of her mouth.

“We met but a short time ago,” said Skye, softening somewhat.
”I don’t know what happened to us, but we are in love. Da simply
would not listen. Niall wants to have my marriage annulled so we
may wed.”

The nun shook her head. “Perhaps he can arrange it, or at least
get the proceedings started while you’re here.”

“You’re the first person who’s not told me that the MacWilliam won’t let his heir marry with an O’Malley of Innisfana.”

The Reverend Mother laughed. “Ah, these men and their pride!
Take heart, my daughter. The MacWilliam is a stern man, but he
loves his son. But tell me, child, have you no feeling for your young
husband?”

“I do not love Dom, nor did I ever wish to wed with him. I
begged my father not to force me to it, even before I met Niall
Burke. In fact, I did not wish to wed at all until I met Niall. I do
not believe a woman should have to spend her life with someone
she dislikes.”

“So,” chuckled the nun, “you’re a revolutionary like your sister,
Lady O’Flaherty.”

“No. And please, I beg of you, Reverend Mother, do not call me
Lady O’Flaherty. I shall never acknowledge Dom’s name as mine.
I am Skye O’Malley!”

“Very well, Skye O’Malley, we shall try to make your stay with
us as pleasant as possible.” The nun picked up a bell and rang it
sharply. It was instantly answered by a little novice. “Sister Feldelm,
this is Skye O’Malley, Sister Eibhlin’s sister. She is sheltering with
us for several weeks. The West Tower guest suite has been prepared
for her. Will you please escort her there?”

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” said the novice, bobbing a curtsey.
”If you’ll come along with me, Mistress O’Malley.”

“You are free to go wherever you chose on the grounds, Skye,
and the chapel and public rooms of the convent are open to you.
You need not keep to your rooms.”

“Thank you.” Skye turned to follow Sister Feldelm.

“My daughter, I shall pass on to you any information I receive.”

Skye flashed her a small smile, then followed the novice out.

How sad, thought the Reverend Mother. Another young woman
pushed into an unhappy marriage. She wondered what the Mac-
William would do. She knew what he would not do. He would not
let Niall have Skye, for he sought a better match for his heir. Damn
him and the others like him for the fools they were! Hadn’t they yet
learned that overbred wenches invariably proved to be bad breeders?
A good sturdy lass of less elegant lineage made a better wife.

The Reverend Mother Ethna realized that beneath the gallant
defiance, Skye O’Malley was a frightened and desperate girl. If the
child was to be disappointed, best she learn it now so she might face
her grief with the nuns. In the time she was with them, they could,
with the grace of God, help her make peace with herself.

Alone in her apartment Skye inspected her surroundings. There
were two rooms, a good-sized dayroom, and a small bedroom. Both had fireplaces. The bedroom fireplace was set into the corner. The
room held only a big oak bed with claret velvet hangings. There was
no room for any other furniture. The size of the bed amused and
puzzled Skye until it dawned on her that the convent probably relied
on the generosity of its friends to furnish its rooms. Giggling to
herself, she wondered what the nuns thought of the great bed. It
faced the one small window in the bedroom, and looked out over
the sea.

The dayroom was a bright, pleasant room with windows on two
sides. They faced north, giving a far view of her home on Innisfana
Island, and west across the open sea into the setting sun. On the
east wall of the room was a large stone fireplace flanked by two
great carved winged angels. To the north of the fireplace was the
stout oak door that served as an entry.

On the opposite side of the fireplace a small floor-to-ceiling book-
case had been built into the wall, matching a larger one that shared
the south wall with the paneled bedroom door. Before the lead paned
western windows was a polished oak refectory table with armchairs
at the head and foot. To one side of the fireplace was a settle and
on the other a comfortable chair. There was a large carved chest,
and in the space between the windows stood a little prie-dieu with
an embroidered cushion. Skye’s trunk had been placed in the bedroom, beneath the window.

The convent’s benefactors had been more than generous. Heavy
claret-red velvet draperies hung from all the windows, and a large
Turkey carpet in reds and blues was spread across the floor, matching
a smaller one in the bedroom. Skye later learned that the O’Neills
had furnished the West Tower’s guest quarters when their own Ethna
became the head of St. Bride’s of the Cliffs.

Skye’s days quickly took on a comfortable pattern. She rose early,
and attended mass in the convent’s chapel. She was not particularly
religious, but she prayed now that Niall would soon come for her.
Afterward she obtained her own breakfast from the kitchen and went
off by herself to walk across the convent grounds. A small sailboat
belonging to the order was placed at her disposal, and Skye spent
many hours sailing and fishing to pass the time. The convent soon
enjoyed a number of fresh seafood dinners courtesy of their young
guest.

The main meal of the day was served at two in the afternoon,
and Skye ate it alone in her dayroom. The evening meal was served
after vespers, and sometimes Eibhlin joined her young sister. Oth-
erwise Skye was again alone.

The convent had a surprisingly fine library, and the bookshelves in Skye’s dayroom were also well filled. On very wet days, she
read. Skye O’Malley was a well-educated woman for her day. She
could speak her native Gaelic as well as English, French, and Latin.
She could write, and though she might not sew as fine a seam as
her sisters did, her needlework was passable and she could knit.

She knew how to run a household, understanding provisioning,
salting, conserving, preserving, soap-making, and perfume-making.
She knew the rudiments of brewing and household medicine. She
had been taught to keep accounts, for O’Malley firmly believed that
the only way to avoid being cheated by one’s own steward was to
do one’s own household accounts. And as if that were not enough,
Skye was one of the finest navigators her father had ever sailed with.
The O’Malley often joked that he thought his daughter could smell
out her ship’s destination.

Though she saw the nuns as she moved through the uneventful
pattern of her days, Skye actually spent most of her time alone. The
order of St. Bride’s was not a cloistered one, nor was it a begging
order. The nuns were workers, devoted first to their God and second
to the poor. Some of the nuns were teachers and others gave medical
aid to the surrounding area. The rest farmed for the convent, cooked,
knitted, sewed, and did the farm and household chores.

Skye adapted instantly, and entered into the spirit of the convent,
doing her share of fishing, snaring rabbits, and one day even bringing
down a young buck. The venison was a rare treat for the nuns.

Skye needed that constant physical activity. Had she not worked
so hard she might never have slept. Why had Niall not communicated
with her? Surely he understood the anguish she was feeling. He
could not, she was sure, have made love to her with such exquisite
delicacy while intending to leave her forever.

It might have eased her mind to know that Niall Burke suffered
no less than she did. He had clawed his way up through the swirling
darkness to discover himself trussed like a damned Christmas goose
on a cockle of a boat that was bouncing all over the ocean. The
bearded captain of the little boat gave him a wicked but sympathetic
grin.

“So, you’re awake, me lord.”

“Where the hell am I?” snarled Niall. “Unloose me at once!”

The captain looked unhappy. “Ah, now, your worship, I can’t
do that. If I were to unloose you, and you became violent, which
I can see you’re sure to do, I’d be in terrible trouble. Take Lord
Burke home to the MacWilliam was what the O’Malley told me to
do, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

“At least sit me up, man, and give me a dram. I’m cramped, my head feels like the little people are mining gold inside it, and I’m
not sure I won’t be seasick.”

Captain MacGuire chuckled. “All right, lad. You don’t ask a
great deal of a man, and I’m no fool to make you any more uncom-
fortable than you already are.” Bending, he hauled Niall into a sitting
position, his back against the mast, and held a flask to his lips.

Niall gratefully swallowed several gulps of the smoky, peat-
scented whiskey. It hit the pit of his stomach like a burning rock,
but almost immediately it began to spread its warmth through his
cramped, wet body. “So the O’Malley sent me home?” he said
thoughtfully.

“Aye, me lord, and you’ve slept as peaceful as a babe most of
the way. We’re just about there.”

Niall craned his neck and looked to the coast, but he was not a
sailor and the distant landscape looked all the same to him. “How
long?” he demanded.

“A bit,” came the infuriatingly vague answer. “See that little point
over there? Once we’re around it you’re home. That’s where we’ll
land, and then I’ll walk you from there. I’ve a message to deliver
to the MacWilliam.”

“Walk!” Niall exploded. “We’ll take the first available horses we
can find. The MacWilliam’s stronghold is a good stretch of the legs
from the sea, man. Do you ride?”

“About as good as you sail, laddie.”

“Then God help you, MacGuire! You’ll soon be as uncomfortable
as I am now!”

When they finally reached shore the captain untied his passenger
and helped him from the boat. Niall Burke rubbed his wrists where
the ropes had chafed him. He was anxious to be home so he might
speak with his father. He clambered up the hillside from the beach.

Without even looking to see if MacGuire was with him, Niall
strode quickly away, following a faint path. After about a half-hour
they came in view of a thatched roofed farmhouse. Next to the
farmhouse bloomed a kitchen garden of herbs, carrots, and other
root vegetables, cress, and a few bright flowers. The nearby fields,
well kept, were already colored with barley and rye. And in a pasture
just beyond the garden a dozen sleek horses grazed peacefully. There
was no sign of life, though MacGuire could have sworn he had seen
smoke coming from the chimney. “Ho! The house! ‘Tis Niall Burke,
and a friend.”

After a long moment the farmhouse door swung open, and a big
man stepped out. He called back out into the house, “It’s all right,
Maeve. It’s his lordship.” The man came forward, a grin on his face, and clasped Niall’s hand in his own large bearlike paw. “Wel-
come, my lord! How may we serve you?”

“I need two horses, Brian. This evil-looking fellow is Captain
MacGuire, one of the O’Malley’s men. He’ll return the horses to
you later.”

“At once, my lord. If you’re not in too great a hurry, the wife
is just taking bread from the oven.”

Niall Burke’s silvery eyes crinkled in appreciation. “Ah,” he
breathed. “Maeve’s bread with her own honey! Come on, MacGuire!
I’ve a treat for you, despite the fact that you’ve treated me badly.”
The captain in his wake, he burst through the door and swept up a
sparrow of a woman into his embrace. He held her high above him,
lowering her to smack kisses on both of her flushed cheeks while
she laughed and scolded him to put her down. “I’ve come for your
virtue-and your fine bread, Maeve love!” he teased, returning her
to her feet.

She gave him a friendly whack, and said, “None of your naught-
iness now, Master Niall. Tis long past time you grew up. Come
along with you, and your friend too. Sit down. The bread’s just
from the oven.”

They obeyed her and sat. Niall, turning to MacGuire, explained,
”Maeve was my nurse until I was seven. Then she deserted me to
wed with Brian. As a boy, I used to come here often, for she bakes
the best bread in the district. And for some reason her bees make
the best honey you’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s the salt air,” said Maeve. “It gives the honey a wee bit of
a nip.”

MacGuire shortly found that Lord Burke was no liar, and he said
to Maeve, “If you had a daughter who could bake half as well as
you do, mistress, I’d wed with her in a thrice.”

Maeve flushed with pleasure. “If you return this way, Captain,
stop for a meal with us.”

“Thank you, mistress, and I will!”

“The horses are ready, my lord,” called Brian from the doorway.

Niall Burke stood up, licking a drop of honey from his finger
like a small boy. “Let’s go, MacGuire. I’m anxious to be home!”

The captain was surprised to see two fine, well-bred mounts
waiting. They mounted and, with a wave to Brian, rode off.

“Your peasants must be prosperous to have any horses at all, let
alone such fine ones,” observed MacGuire as they cantered along.

“These are our horses,” answered Burke. “We keep good horses
with several specially chosen families for just such purposes as these.
That way, we’re never stranded.” He then spurred his horse to a
gallop. “Come on, man,” he called to the captain, who was bouncing up and down on his mount, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m
for home!”

Niall Burke was to regret his haste. No sooner had he entered
into the MacWilliam’s presence than the O’Malley’s letter was
handed over to the great lord. MacGuire was sent off to be served
refreshment, and Niall stood impatiently while the MacWilliam, his
strong features darkening, skimmed over the parchment. Finally the
MacWilliam snorted and, looking angrily at his son, roared, “Well,
you arrogant puppy, I hope you have a helluva good explanation for
your conduct! Dubhdara O’Malley’s ships are vital to the defense
of this area, as is the goodwill of the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys!”

Niall, of course, had not read the letter. Caught off guard, he
blurted like a schoolboy. “I love her, Father! I love Skye O’Malley!
I tried to speak with O’Malley, and get him to call off the wedding.
But his wife went into labor before I could talk to him. She had a
hard birth. He was unavailable all that time, and they wed the girl
ahead of schedule, practically in secret.”

“O’Malley wouldn’t have called off the match, you young fool!
It was made years ago. He was bound to it! And a damn good match
it was for his youngest lass. How dared you interfere?”

“I love her, and she loves me. She detests the O’Flaherty bastard
they’ve wed her to! She always hated him, even before we met.”

“And you felt that gave you the right to claim the droit du seigneur
of the bride? Jesus, man! If you were anyone else I’d kill you!
You’re lucky O’Malley has a sense of humor. The girl’s been sent
to her sister’s convent to be sure your night results in nothing worse
man embarrassment.”

“I love her!” shouted Niall. “I want her marriage annulled so I
may wed her. There must be a bishop in this family.”

“Over my dead body!” roared the MacWilliam. “O’Malley’s ships
are valuable to me. His wench is not. I’ll have no pirate wench
mothering my grandchildren! I’ve arranged for you to wed with
Darragh O’Neill, the younger sister to your late betrothed. She is
thirteen, and ripe for marriage. You’ll be joined in three weeks’
time.”

“No!”

“Yes! Listen, you young idiot, take O’Malley’s girl as a mistress
if you wish, but you cannot wed her. She already has a husband.
And from what I hear of him, once he takes her to bed, you’ll
become just a pretty memory to her.”

“Go to Hell!” Niall Burke stormed out of his father’s study and
got gloriously drunk. The following day, his head feeling twice its
normal size, he was summoned back to his father.

“This,” said the MacWilliam, “was brought for you this morning.

I have taken the liberty of reading it, and can only say that O’Malley’s
daughter is wiser than you are. She obviously has more sense than
you do. Here.”

Niall snatched the parchment and read it with shock.

My lord Burke:

I have retired with my sister to her convent of St. Bride’s
on Innishturk Island, where I shall pray to Our Lady that the
shameful night we spent together bears no unhallowed fruit.
What we did was wrong, and I can only hope and pray that
my husband will forgive me. I beg that you forget me, and
for the good of your soul enter into Christian marriage with
a good woman at the earliest possible moment. May God go
with you always.

Skye, Lady O’Flaherty

He wanted desperately to deny what he read. And, after all, he
had never seen her writing. Was it a forgery? The hand, however,
was sweetly rounded and feminine, and he recognized the imprint
on the wax seal as the one she wore on a ring. Perhaps they had
forced her to write this message. But he knew how stubborn Skye
was. They could have burned her feet with hot irons and she’d not
have written it, had she not wished to do so. Damn her! Damn her!
Was that all he meant to her? A shameful night? Damn her for the
fickle bitch she was! Anguished beyond anything he had ever known,
Niall blinked back his tears and said hoarsely, “I’ll marry Darragh
O’Neill.” Then he dropped the letter and strode from the room
without a backward glance.

The MacWilliam waited a moment to be sure his son had gone,
then said, “You can come out now, Captain MacGuire. Go back and
tell the O’Malley that his strategy worked. My son will be wed in
three weeks’ time, and will give him no further trouble.”

MacGuire bowed, nodded wordlessly, and departed.

Alone, the MacWilliam felt a twinge of conscience. He loved his
son deeply, and hated denying him anything. Still, when given the
choice between an O’Neill and an O’Malley for his daughter-in-law,
there was only one choice the MacWilliam could make. Yes, Niall
would settle down quite nicely with Darragh O’Neill. By this time
next year he would have a grandson.

Chapter 4

An especially nice tiling came of Skye’s stay at St. Bride’s.
Walking on the beach one day, she came across an injured
young wolfhound, not quite full grown. The poor creature
was half starved, its ribs plainly visible. Its fur was so filthy
and matted with salt that it was difficult to tell the dog’s true color.
Its leg had been caught in a rock crevice. Hearing the weak bark,
Skye ran to the dog, who looked up at her hopefully and thumped
his long tail in a friendly fashion.

“Ah, poor beastie,” murmured Skye sympathetically, and set
about freeing the dog. Carefully she removed the small rocks about
the animal’s leg. And then, as gently as she could, she drew the leg
from its prison. The dog winced, but did not growl. Skye patted
him. “There, love, come along now and let’s find some food for
you.” The dog fought his way to his feet and limped, stumbling a
little, after her.

The nuns were as sympathetic as Skye had been, and allowed the
dog into the convent. His origin and owner remained a mystery. The
island peasants would not dare claim the royal canine. Peasants kept
only working dogs, such as terriers, mastiffs, and mongrels. The
Irish wolfhound, that great killer of wolves and other predators,
belonged to the ruling class, as did Irish setters.

Skye named the dog Inis, after the favorite hound of Partholan,
an early settler in Ireland. Inis attached himself to her with a singular
devotion. He walked out with her in the mornings, sailed with her
in the convent’s little boat, and slept with her at night, spreading
his great lanky frame across the foot of her bed. Within a few weeks
he had regained his normal adult weight, one hundred sixty pounds,
and stood thirty-eight inches high. Bathed, his fur became a shining
silvery gray that reminded Skye of Niall’s eyes. Inis’s ears and the
feathers on his legs were black. The hound was Skye’s slave, his
soulful eyes lighting up with pleasure each time he looked at her.

Skye needed the dog’s love, for Niall Burke appeared to have
forgotten her entirely. And then there came the day when her show
of blood arrived right on schedule. She wept into Inis’s soft neck,
her heartbreak complete.

The Reverend Mother Ethna sent a message to the young O’Flaherty informing him that his wife was not pregnant and a week
later Dom arrived to claim his wife. The Reverend Mother personally
showed him into Skye’s apartment. “I would have come sooner,”
he said, smiling smugly, “but I was obliged to attend Niall Burke’s
wedding to Darragh O’Neill.”

Skye fainted. When she came to she was lying on the settle. She
heard Dom speaking solicitously to the nun. “I did not realize the
news of Lord Burke’s marriage would so unsettle my lady.”

“Did you not, my lord?” said Ethna O’Neill coolly.

O’Flaherty smiled and, ignoring the nun’s sarcasm, continued.
”I realize it is unusual for a gentleman to spend the night in your
convent, but I really do not think my wife should be moved until
the shock wears off.”

The Reverend Mother Ethna had decided she did not like Dom
O’Flaherty, but she did agree with him that Skye should not be
moved right now. She was forced to assure him that, though it was
unusual, it was not forbidden him to spend the night under St. Bride’s
roof. He was welcome. Dom thanked her politely, then asked if she
would take his wife’s hound, see that it was fed, and have it put in
the stables with his men and horses. Inis, who had taken an instant
dislike to Dom, was removed under protest.

They were alone. Dom O’Flaherty walked to the settle and said
coldly, “I know you’ve recovered your swoon, Skye. Now get up
and greet your lord and master properly.”

Slowly, she rose and placed a quick kiss on his mouth. He chuck-
led and with lightning swiftness pulled her close. She tensed and he
laughed. “Ah, yes. You don’t like me, do you, wife? How unfor-
tunate for you for you’ll soon be spreading yourself wide for my
pleasure, and my pleasure alone. And when I’m deep inside you I’ll
wipe all thought of Niall Burke from your mind!” His mouth ground
down on hers, and she beat her clenched fists against his chest. Then
suddenly she was rescued by a knock on the door. Dom smothered
a curse and called out sharply, “Come in!”

Two nuns, each laden down with a tray of steaming food, hurried
in, their eyes lowered. Placing their trays on the great refectory
table, they hurried out as quickly.

Skye pulled from her husband’s grasp. “How thoughtful!” she
exclaimed brightly. “We have been sent supper.”

“I’ve no appetite for food yet,” he said in a surly tone.

She raised the cover of a dish. “Look! Boiled shrimp! And here’s
a lovely capon, and a small joint of mutton! If we don’t eat it now,
it will get cold.”

“Let it!” He came swiftly up behind her and loosened her laces,
sliding his hands around to cup her breasts. “This is what I’m hungry for, Skye,” be said, squeezing her flesh. “The food will wait. Your
laces are loosened. Go into the bedroom, finish undressing, and wait
for me in the bed.”

She closed her eyes to squeeze back tears. “Oh, Dom!” she
pleaded. “Not here! I’ll do whatever you want me to, but not here
in this holy house. Not here!”

“I hadn’t considered it that way,” he said thoughtfully, “but the
idea of fucking you in a convent appeals to me. Shall we pretend
you’re a young nun about to be ravaged by a Viking chief?” She
blanched at his sacrilege, and he snarled, “Quickly, Skye! I’m hot
for you-having been denied my marital rights for over a month!”
He punctuated his words with a light slap to her cheek.

She wanted to fight him, but she had been so badly broken by
the news of Niall’s marriage that she couldn’t find the spirit. She
fled into the bedroom and, with shaking fingers, pulled her clothes
off and climbed into the big bed. A moment later, Dom entered the
room, drinking from a goblet of wine. Placing the goblet on the
nightstand, he undressed swiftly, letting his clothes fall where they
dropped. When he turned to enter the bed she bit back a cry of
terror. Niall had been a big man, but Skye’s husband was unnaturally
large, enormous. Seeing her fear, he chuckled. “The wenches in
Paris call me Le Taureau! Do you know what that means?”

Terrified, she nodded. “The bull.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Aye, the bull!” he said proudly. “And I am, wife! Now spread
yourself wide. I’ve got something for you!” He tore back the covers
she clutched to her breasts. The sight of her naked body inflamed
his lust, and he flung himself on her.

Skye managed to gasp, “But Dom! I am not ready!”

He raised himself above her, and gazed down at her. “You’re not
ready?” His look was incredulous. Had he not been so astounded
he might have hit her. “You do not have to be ready, Skye. I am!”

And she felt herself being ripped asunder by his monster sex.
Before she could cry out, his hand clapped over her mouth. He
pushed himself into her, muttering all the while, “You’re tight as
a drum, woman! Burke’s cock must be no bigger than a worm, to
have left you so tight!” He grunted his pleasure while, beneath him,
her eyes reflected pain and fright. She tried to lie still, hoping to
ease the pain, but she couldn’t. She writhed in an effort to escape
him, and mistaking her actions for growing passion, he laughed.
”I knew it! Beneath all the ladylike manners you’ve the makings of
a good whore! I’m a lucky man!” And he drove deeper and harder
into her. “Don’t fear, lovey,” he panted, “I’ll teach you many a
good trick to please us both!” Then, with a growl of pleasure, he
collapsed.

For a moment they lay sandwiched together, then O’Flaherty got
up and, returning to the dayroom, poured himself more wine. Skye
felt tears gushing down her cheeks, but she made no sound for fear
of angering him. She heard him lifting the covers of the dishes,
sampling the food. He didn’t think to offer her any.

Coming back into the small bedroom, clutching a chicken leg,
Dom sat on the side of the bed. He patted her backside. Skye feigned
sleep, hoping he would leave her in peace. She heard the sound of
his slow, methodical munching, and then the leg bone hit the floor.
”Spread yourself!”

Resistance was useless. She was his wife, his chattel. She obeyed
and was once again subjected to pain and degradation. When he was
through this time he rolled off her and fell asleep on his back, snoring
contentedly. Skye waited until she was sure he slept soundly, then
crept from the bed. She could barely walk, but she would have
crawled on her hands and knees to get out of that room.

Gaining the dayroom she shakily poured herself some wine, spill-
ing half on the table. Adding some more wood to the fire, she
collapsed into the large chair.

Niall! His gentle hands, his loving mouth! He had sought to please
her while teaching her to please him. Damn him! Damn him! She
had been betrayed. They had all been right. The great lord’s heir
had only been amusing himself with her, and his lust for her in-
nocence was no less foul than Dom’s lust to subdue her. A hand
dropped on her shoulder, and she started, looking up with dread.

“I woke, and you were gone,” he said plaintively. “You’re weep-
ing! Still sad I’m not Niall, eh?” She wiped at the tears guiltily,
quickly shaking her head, and his tone softened a bit. “I probably
hurt you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Well, don’t worry, Skye. It’ll
get easier with use, and you’ll soon stretch to take my bulk. Come
on, lovey. Let’s fuck a bit more, for if you can’t sleep then I’ve not
used you enough. Besides,” he chuckled lasciviously, “you’re a far
sweeter piece than I thought you would be.”

All the rest of the night, while she endured her husband’s em-
braces, she hated Niall Burke with a growing fury, and considered
how she would revenge herself on him one day. Oh, yes, he would
pay for her broken dreams.

And a similar scene was being enacted miles away, at the strong-hold of the

MacWilliam.

Darragh O’Neill Burke had been destined for the Church since
her birth. Her eldest sister had been betrothed and eventually wed
to an O’Connell. Her middle sister had been betrothed to Niall Burke.
But Ceit had died suddenly last winter, and Darragh, who had been in her beloved St. Mary’s convent since the age of five, was brought
home to take her middle sister’s place in the marriage bed.

It was a particularly tragic choice, for Darragh O’Neill had a true
religious vocation. When it was decided that she would replace her
sister, Darragh was two days from taking her final vows. Her father
and his troupe of men had arrived with much noise and shouting,
just in time to prevent Darragh’s blond hair from being shorn. O’Neill
had waived the return of Darragh’s dowry from the religious order,
knowing that mis would make Darragh’s mother superior more easily
amenable to his change of plan. He lost nothing by it, as the money
had been paid in full eight years prior, just as Ceit’s dowry had been
paid to the MacWilliams at the time of her betrothal.

The mother superior explained the change to the horrified young
nun, saying smoothly that God and Our Lady had quite obviously
made other plans for Darragh. Darragh must accept God’s will with
good grace. She would leave the convent immediately and wed Lord
Burke. Weeping bitterly, the girl obeyed.

Thus Niall Burke was greeted on his wedding day by a pale girl
whose red-rimmed eyes gave evidence of much weeping. As he had
not been fully informed of her religious commitment, he was annoyed
that she should face the marriage with so little enthusiasm.

Later that evening, when the bride and groom went to bed, Dar-
ragh fainted at the sight of her naked husband. Niall gently elicited
an explanation from Darragh. Touched, he gently stroked the pale
blond hair. “I think that, under the circumstances, there’s no need
for us to hurry the physical side of our marriage,” he said quietly.
”Let us take time to know one another better.”

The truth of the matter was that Niall had no taste for raping
unwilling virgins. And he cursed both their fathers for their blind
stupidity. The girl had a deep religious commitment, and he ques-
tioned whether she would ever get over that. He laughed bitterly.
They had torn him from the woman he loved, who would gladly
have given him sons, because his father didn’t think her highborn
enough! And in her place they had given him a dedicated nun! It
was too funny, and he would have laughed again had he not become
aware that his new wife still seemed troubled.

“What will people say if the sheets have no bloody stain tomor-
row?”

He chuckled. “Ah, Darragh Burke, ‘tis truly innocent you are.
Many a lass has played at carnal games before marriage, yet flown
the bloody sheet the morning after her wedding. Move over, lass,
and I’ll show you.”

Wide-eyed, she watched with amazement as he took the fruit knife from the bowl by the bed and pricked the inside of his thigh.
A small trickle of blood flowed forth, staining the sheets. Darragh’s
virtue was thus proved while her husband’s honor was saved and
his prowess attested to.

It had been now two weeks since their wedding night. Darragh
reasoned that her virginity had been saved forever, and as she had
long ago dedicated that precious gift to God, she had no intention
of giving it to Niall. She would keep his house, but that was all.
Niall’s kindness on their wedding night seemed a weakness she could
continue to exploit.

Once again, as he had every night since their wedding, Niall
gently tried to make love to his wife. Darragh’s inexperience pre-
vented her knowing how patient her husband really was. She was
determined that he would not succeed, but he was equally determined
he would. If he must be married to this girl then she would mother
his children. Now Darragh informed him that she would be his bride
in name only. Her virginity belonged to God.

“You cannot force me as you did poor Skye O’Malley, my lord.
I can but imagine the poor woman’s shame!” she finished right-
eously.

At the mention of Skye’s name Niall’s head whirled, and he
stared with revulsion at the cold, pious, feelingless creature they had
wedded him to. A tiny, fair-skinned, flat-chested girl with watery
blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a prim mouth was his wife. The
comparison between her and Skye with her gardenia skin, flowing
blue-black hair, and blue-green eyes was ludicrous! Skye, with her
sweetly rounded small breasts, rosebud mouth, and innocently eager
passion. Skye! Dom O’Flaherty’s willing wife… who had given
Niall a night of bliss only to destroy his happiness almost imme-
diately with a cold letter. He groaned. Skye would soon give Dom
sons! And so, he decided with growing anger, would Darragh
O’Neill Burke give her husband sons.

Seeing the grim purpose in his silvery eyes, Darragh fell to her
knees clutching her rosary beads, her lips moving silently in prayer.
Niall angrily snatched away the beads and, pulling Darragh to her
feet, ripped the white linen nightgown from her. Catching her in his
arms, he kissed her deeply, forcing the narrow lips open. She fought
him, clawing at him with surprisingly sharp nails, squirming wildly.
Darragh truly believed that God would strike her husband with a
bolt of lightning for his impudence, and she prayed it would kill
him. As they fell back onto the bed and she felt his great manhood
penetrate her maidenhead, Darragh called on every saint in the cal-
endar to avenge her. But soon she was moaning at him to continue, her skinny legs wrapping around him, her lean hips finding the
rhythm and moving with it.

Afterward he felt disgusted with himself, and with her as well.
He had never in his life forced a woman, but she had driven him
to it with her denial of him, and the mention of his beloved, treach-
erous Skye.

Women! They were all alike. They said one thing, meant another.
Beside him, his wife sniveled and complained, “You hurt me! You
hurt me!”

“It always hurts the first time, Darragh. It’ll get better now.”

“You’re never going to do that to me again. Never!”

“There’ll be no immaculate conceptions in this family, wife, and
besides, you enjoyed it. I know when a woman likes it, my dear.
And like it or not, it’s your duty to give me sons. You might even
admit to liking it eventually. There’s nothing wrong with a woman
taking pleasure with her husband.”

“Never!” she spat at him as he pulled her back into his arms. His
big hand stroked her tense body soothingly. “I’ll endure it, for it is
obviously God’s will, but I’ll hate it every time you stick that awful
thing inside me.”

“Have it your own way, my dear,” he said. “Just remember that
I was no more anxious for this marriage than you were. I would just
as soon you stayed in your convent.” And he thrust into her again,
making her cry out. “Give me a couple of sons, Darragh, and I’ll
leave you in peace forever.”

And down the coast, across the water on Innishturk Island, Dom
O’Flaherty bent over his beautiful wife, pumping smoothly. Skye
was too sensuous a woman to deny her body its release. She let
herself begin to fall away into a lovely world of sweet sensations,
and then she heard her husband moan. He collapsed atop her. She
had not reached her own heaven, but he didn’t care. Niall had cared.
She turned her head away from Dom, a tear sliding unchecked down
her cheek. Damn Niall. Would he never stop haunting her?

Chapters 5

The MacWilliam had commanded that his vassals keep the
twelve days of Christmas with him. They came from all over
Mid-Connaught, including Dom O’Flaherty and his bride of
several months.

The hospitality was lavish, for unlike his less powerful neighbors,
the MacWilliam’s tower house had sprouted three additional inter-
connected towers over the years. Consequently he now owned a fine
stone castle, built along Norman lines around a gardened and cobbled
quadrangle. His guests were housed quite comfortably. Although
Skye’s father’s tower house was most comfortable and very well
furnished, the MacWilliam’s large castle was lavish by comparison.

There were four O’Flahertys partaking of their overlord’s gen-
erosity. Dom’s father, Gilladubh, and his younger sister, Claire, had
come with Dom and Skye. Skye frankly hoped that they could find
a husband for Claire O’Flaherty, though neither Claire’s father nor
her brother seemed to realize that, at fourteen, Claire was practically
an old maid.

The girl was pretty enough, with thick, flaxen braids, Dom’s
pale-blue eyes, and a pink-cheeked complexion. But there was some-
thing sly about her, something Skye did not like. On the one or two
occasions Skye had attempted to correct the girl for minor faults,
Claire had complained to both her father and her brother, and Skye
had been told to leave her be. Behind the doting men’s backs, Claire
had smiled smugly at her sister-in-law. But Skye had had some
measure of revenge when she caught Claire helping herself to Skye’s
jewelry. Boxing the girl’s ears soundly-which gave Skye great
pleasure-she warned her that if she stole again she would have
Claire’s head shaved.

“And if you complain to either Dom or your father, dear sister,”
Skye’s voice dripped sweetness, “you’ll be bald for a year.”

Claire O’Flaherty needed no further warning. The fierce look in
Skye’s eye convinced her that her brother’s wife was not the soft
fool she had originally thought she was. From that moment on the
two women maintained a wary truce. Now Skye was determined to
marry the girl off as quickly as possible, to get her out of her house.

Skye had known that Niall would be at the Christmas gathering.

She soon learned that he was to be their host, as his father was
suffering with gout. If Niall expected to find her heartbroken, she
would soon disabuse him of that notion. In the six months since
Dom had taken her from St. Bride’s she had made a kind of peace
with herself. She did not love her husband nor did she ever believe
she would, but she played the obedient wife.

Her mother-in-law was long dead, and the running of the
O’Flaherty household was left entirely in her hands. Claire seemed
not to care, or even have the necessary knowledge. Skye did her job
well, which pleased her father-in-law. Gilladubh O’Flaherty was an
older version of Dom, a pompous lecher with a penchant for fine
wines and good whiskey. Skye soon learned to avoid his quick
hands, once going so far as to brandish a candlestick at him and
threaten to expose his outrageous behavior.

Sitting on the MacWilliam’s fine guest bed in her petticoats and
beribboned busk, she brushed her hair with angry, vicious strokes.
Tonight Skye O’Malley would be as beautiful as she could make
herself, and she would hold her head up before the arrogant Burkes
and O’Neills. It was her good fortune to own a more magnificent
wardrobe than most women did, for her father had always delighted
in showing off her beauty.

Mag, her tiring woman, brought her gown and laid it carefully
across the foot of the bed. She held a small round mirror for her
mistress, and Skye skillfully outlined her eyes with kohl and put just
the tiniest bit of red to her cheeks, giving her fair skin a faint, healthy
blush. Her shining dark hair was smoothly parted in the center,
carefully tucked into dainty gold wire cauls, then pinned on either
side of her head. Lastly Skye applied to the deep valley between her
breasts, to her wrists, to the base of her throat, and to the back and
sides of her neck, a rare perfume made especially for her of musk
and attar of roses. Let him smell the scent of roses on her! Let him
remember, and know she cared not!

Skye stood up, and Mag hurried to help her mistress into her
gown. The tiring woman quickly laced the dress and then stood back
to survey her lady. A toothless smile split her weathered face. “Aye,
you’ll break his fickle heart, my lady! One look at you in this gown,
and he’ll wish he’d stood up to that old devil, his father!”

“Is Lady Burke so displeasing to the eye then, Mag?” asked Skye
with feigned disinterest.

Mag cackled with laughter, and hugged herself. “Nay, lady, she’s
pretty enough. It’s just that you’re so wickedly fair.”

Skye smiled a little cat’s smile. “Get my jewel case, you old
crone!” she ordered affectionately and, when the woman hurried to
obey, snatched up the mirror. Holding it away from herself, she studied her reflection. The gown of deep-blue velvet was beautiful,
and its low, square neckline revealed her snow-white breasts. The
bodice flowed into a full skirt, parting in the center to reveal a
Persian blue underskirt of heavy satin, embroidered in gold and
silver thread. Her shoes matched her gown, but her stockings were
pure silk, and matched the underskirt right down to the embroidery.
Skye twirled slightly, and was pleased to see that the stockings
would show to great advantage during the dancing.

Mag held open the jewel case and Skye lifted out a sapphire
necklace, the large square stones interspersed with round gold me-
dallions, twelve in all, each representing a sign of the zodiac. At
the bottom of the necklace a large pink pearl teardrop hung pro-
vocatively between her breasts. There were sapphires in her ears and
she wore three rings, a sapphire, an emerald, and a large baroque
pearl.

Dom strode into the room and asked jealously, “Are you dressing
to please Niall Burke, Skye?”

“Rather to please you, my lord,” she said smoothly, “but if my
gown displeases you I will change to whatever gives you pleasure.”

He eyed her carefully. He knew there wouldn’t be a woman at
tonight’s banquet to compare with her. She would be the fairest
creature in the hall. And she belonged to him! He would be the envy
of every man there. Roughly he pulled her into his arms and buried
his face in the warm scented cleft between her breasts.

“Don’t!” Her voice was sharp. Familiarity had removed her fear
of him, and now only a veiled contempt remained. “Don’t, Dom.
You’ll put me in disarray.” He stepped away from her. “How handsome you look,” she quickly noted. “Your sky-blue velvet goes quite
well with my deep blue.”

“Day and midnight,” he said, offering her his arm.

She laughed. “Careful, my lord, you verge on the poetical. Your
fine Paris education may have not gone for nought after all.”

The banquet hall of the MacWilliam’s castle was a great room
with heavy beamed ceilings and four fireplaces. They blazed now
with giant-sized logs. Tall narrow windows gave views of the snow-
covered countryside, the plainness of the hills and fields broken at
intervals by large stands of black, bare trees. To the west the hills
were stained orange-red with the sunset. The room was crowded
with elegantly dressed guests. Servants scurried to and fro with trays
of wine, amid a low steady hum of voices.

As they entered the hall the majordomo announced them and Skye
felt the eyes of the entire room on them. The story of her wedding
night was yet spoken of throughout the district, and now the nobility of Mid-Connaught watched to see the first meeting of the O’Flahertys
and the Burkes since that fateful day of last May. The gossips had
to admit that Skye and Dom were an outrageously handsome couple.

Skye and Dom moved with a stately slow pace as they proceeded
down the length of the hall to greet their host and hostess, Niall and
Darragh. Skye kept her head high, her face expressionless, her glance
at a point just above the top of Niall’s head. For a brief instant she
gave in to her curiosity and glanced at his face. His silver-gray eyes
were ice, and sent a wave of bitter coldness sweeping over her to
penetrate the very core of her heart.

She was puzzled. She had expected a smug smile, certainly not
this disdain. She was discomfited by his attitude, but a quick glimpse
of the tiny woman at his side restored her confidence. She felt joy
surge through her with the knowledge that Darragh Burke was, for
all her noble breeding, no beauty.

They had reached the dais now, and Skye looked past Niall and
his wife to where the MacWilliam sat, his painful leg cushioned
upon a stool. She flashed Niall’s father a brilliant smile, her even
little teeth almost blinding in their whiteness. The old man let his
glance sweep over her, and it gave her great pleasure to see the
regret in his eyes. Now they both knew that he had made a mistake.
She swept him a graceful curtsey. “My lord.”

It amused him to realize how quickly she had read his thoughts.
He enjoyed a worthy adversary, and she would make one. If he had
been twenty years younger he would have made an attempt to bed
her himself. “My friend, Gilly O’Flaherty, tells me you’re a good
wife to his boy,” growled the MacWilliam.

“I am,” she answered him coolly.

“I thought you were happiest being a pirate wench.”

“I am that too, when I can, my lord.”

“And are you good at that too, Lady O’Flaherty?”

“I’m good at whatever I set my mind to, my lord.”

He chuckled. “Welcome to you, and to your husband,” and then
his eyes crinkled wickedly. “Undoubtedly you both remember my
son. Niall.”

She felt Dom stiffen beside her, and she squeezed his hand re-
assuringly. They would not even acknowledge the insult. Dom’s
good manners asserted themselves with the knowledge his wife stood
by him. The two men bowed curtly to each other.

Then Niall’s eyes raked her cruelly. “I see you’re already with
child, Lady O’Flaherty,” he said loudly.

“Aye, my lord. Wed seven months, and six months gone with
child. The women of my family are known to be prolific breeders.”

She spoke as loudly as he had. Then she turned and insolently eyed
Darragh Burke. “I see your own bride of half a year is not yet as
fortunate as I. Are you, my dear?”

Darragh flushed. Her “nay” was audible to all. Skye smiled
sweetly, curtseyed again and, taking her husband’s arm, turned
away. Behind her she heard the MacWilliam chuckle.

Skye allowed Dom to seat her by the fire. She stared into the
leaping flames as he went in search of some mulled wine. She was
almost shaking with suppressed fury. How could Niall behave in
such a fashion?! He had shamed her before the entire county on her
wedding night, left her after making extravagant promises he never
intended keeping, and now he pretended that he had been the injured
party! The bastard! A goblet was shoved into her hand and she
gulped a mouthful of wine to calm herself.

“You were magnificent!” she heard her husband say. “By God,
you showed Niall Burke, and in front of all Connaught too! Not that
I think it would be easy to get that skinny, overbred O’Neill wench
pregnant. I don’t even envy him the task,” he laughed.

“Shut up, you overblown fool!” she hissed at him through gritted
teeth. God, why were all men such idiots? “I don’t give a tinker’s
damn for Niall Burke, but I’d not insult the MacWilliam’s hospi-
tality, so try not to be too obvious in your glee, husband.”

Dom looked at her strangely, but before he could say another
word Anne O’Malley came to greet them. She sent Dom off to join
his friends, then settled herself comfortably and looked at her step-daughter.

“Was it wise to insult Niall Burke and his wife?” she
asked.

“Was it wise for him to insult me?” Skye snapped.

“You still love him.”

“I hate him! For pity’s sake, Anne, speak of something else. The
babe has a tendency to make me weepy, and I’d rather not be
misunderstood.”

“Of course,” said Anne O’Malley sagely. “It would hardly do for
Niall Burke to think you weep for him.”

“I never realized before what a bitch you can be, stepmother,”
said Skye evenly.

Anne laughed. “Oh, the babe does make you testy, doesn’t it?”

“He,” said Skye. “Dom and his father are convinced it’s a lad,
and they will accept nothing less.”

“Oh, I see. And how goes it with you otherwise?”

“Quite well, actually, Anne. Da did me a great service in wedding
me to Dom. Not only have I gained a lecher for a husband, I also
have one for a father-in-law. My husband’s sister is a common bitch not averse to stealing my possessions when she can, and whining
to her father and brother when she’s caught. It’s a charming new
family I have. I am most grateful to Da.

“My new home is in a shocking state of disrepair, and despite
the fine dowry Da gave me, I am told that no money can be found
to put it to rights. Half the household items I brought to O’Flaherty
House, the silver bowls and candlesticks in particular, are myste-
riously missing. In short, I am the mistress of a dung heap peopled
by a vain and randy old cock, a vain and randy young cock, and a
flighty hen.”

Anne was shocked. “Do you want to come home until the child
is bom, Skye?” Sweet Mary! She couldn’t let Skye have her baby
in that place!

“God, yes! I do want to come home, but they’ll not let me for
the next O’Flaherty must be born in his own home, Anne. I would
appreciate it, however, if you could arrange for Eibhlin to come to
me immediately after Candlemass. Though the child isn’t due until
early spring, a late-winter storm at the wrong time could delay her.
and I would be frightened if she were unable to reach me in time.
Besides,” Skye smiled wryly, “I need the company. Claire is none,
and neither she, nor Mag, nor our old cook knows about birthing
a child.”

Anne was now very upset. “What of the other women in your
household? The maids? The laundresses? Is there no midwife in your
village?”

“The few women we can get to work for us come from our nearby
village each day and return to their homes at night. They love their
children, and no family would allow their daughters in my house
because of Dom and his father. They will work O’Flaherty lands,
and pay O’Flaherty taxes, and fight for the O’Flahertys, but too
many of their girls have been abused by the O’Flaherty men for
them to allow their daughters in our house. Even so, Dom and Gilly
have had their share of the poor creatures. They go out on horseback
and hunt them down while the girls are working in the fields! The
O’Flahertys’ reputation is so bad that even Claire has no tiring
woman of her own.”

“I knew it was all wrong from the beginning,” said Anne. “I knew
it!”

“Then why didn’t you speak to Da as you promised me, Anne?
You encouraged him to wed me off the very morning of Conn’s
birth!”

“No, no, Skye! That’s not so at all! I tried to tell your father right
after Conn was bom, but they’d given me herbs in wine to make me sleep, and your father misunderstood me. When I finally awoke
two days later, you were wed, and had already been sent to St.
Bride’s.”

“Then you did not betray me to get me out of the house?”

“You foolish goose! Whatever made you think such a thing? Once
you were firmly wed there was nothing I could do. I only wish your
father had waited. Even though he was firmly set on the match,
perhaps I could have prevented the afterward.”

“No,” said Skye softly. “At least with Niall Burke I learned that
love can be sweet-not true, but sweet. Had it not been for him,
I might have gone my whole life believing all men were animals.”

“Some men are more vigorous in bed than others, Skye.”

“Dom is a pig,” was the flat reply.

“Why do you hate Niall if you’re grateful to him?”

Skye’s eyes blazed blue fire, and her voice was rock hard. “Be-
cause be betrayed me! Because he swore he loved me! Because he
promised to have my marriage annulled, to wed with me. Instead
he crept from my side before the dawn without even so much as a
good-bye kiss and rode merrily home to wed his high O’Neill! I will
never forgive him for that, Anne! Never.^r

In the silence that followed, Anne O’Malley struggled terribly
with her conscience. She knew the full truth. Finally she decided
that silence was the best policy. To tell Skye the truth now would
do nothing more than hurt and anger her further. Nothing could be
changed now. Skye was wed, and pregnant with her husband’s child.
Niall Burke was wed. If either of them learned now of the deception
that had been practiced on them it would only cause greater unhappiness.

Who knew what those two strong-willed, passionate people
would do if they ever learned the truth?

Anne was saved from further talk by the announcement that dinner
was served. Once in the banquet hall they separated, for in deference
to the O’Malley’s value to the MacWilliam, O’Malley and his wife
were seated higher up on the board than Skye and Dom, who were
seated much below the salt. Dom, however, cared not one whit, for
thanks to his wife’s beauty and wit, he was very much the center
of a gay group of young people, some of whom were well-endowed
wenches with bold eyes. He anticipated a pleasant Twelve Days of
Christmas.

And Skye sparkled, determined to show Niall how indifferent she
was. It seemed to those who sat in the more favored places at the
table that those below the salt were having a far better time than
those above it. There was simply no denying that young Lady
O’Flaherty was a delightful and charming beauty.

Skye ate carefully, taking of the first course only a thin slice of fresh salmon, and of the second only the wing of a lemoned capon.
She ate two small pieces of newly baked brown bread, liberally
spreading the butter across it with her thumb. Around her, the other
guests gorged themselves on dish after dish, but Skye was revolted
by the overrich menu. When the sweet was served she enjoyed a
small tart of dried peaches, licking the clotted cream from about her
mouth like a child. Watching her from the high board, Niall longed
to kiss that mouth as much as he longed to strangle her for her
perfidy.

As the meal drew to a close, more of those seated above the salt
began drifting farther down the table to cluster about Skye. Occa-
sionally great bursts of laughter issued forth from the group. When
the dancing began Skye refused all but the least strenuous dances,
but even so she never lacked for partners. She moved proudly, and
with much grace, her gown showing to great advantage. Her blue
eyes sparkled, and her smile flashed again and again.

At the high board Niall Burke sprawled in his chair, glowering,
his big hand clutching his jewel-studded goblet so hard it was a
wonder the stem was not bent. His silver-gray eyes, pantherlike,
half closed, followed her wherever she went. Occasionally he took
great gulps of the dark red wine, emptying and refilling his cup
several times. She was beautiful, damn her, and even in her present
state outrageously desirable.

“Young Lady O’Flaherty is most popular,” ventured Darragh.

“Aye,” he growled, suddenly standing up and striding away from
his wife to join the dancers. The young man partnering Skye suddenly
felt a hard hand on his shoulder. Looking up to see his scowling,
black-browed host, the young man quickly stepped aside. Niall
clamped an arm about her waist and took one of her hands in his.
Her smile faltered, but she never missed a step.

“Should you be dancing?”

“I am expecting a child, my lord. I am not mortally ill with a
wasting sickness.”

“You’ve changed, Skye.”

“Nay, my lord. I have simply learned not to put my faith in pillow
talk.”

They separated, and she wove in and out of the figure, meeting
him again on the other side.

“I find it hard,” he said, “to understand the workings of a fickle
woman’s mind. You behave as though I rejected you instead of the
other way around.”

“You betrayed me. You left me without even a good-bye, and
hurried home to wed and bed your ‘dead’ fiancee! I had no chance
to reject you, but I do now!”

“I was not betrothed to Darragh O’Neill until after your marriage,
Skye. It was her dead sister, Ceit, who was to be my wife.”

Again they were separated by the figure. When they met again,
he said, “I would never have wed Darragh had it not been for your
letter.”

Skye stopped dead. “What letter?” she demanded of him.

One look at her face told Niall Burke that something was very
wrong, but they were in a roomful of people, some of whom were
eying them with speculative curiosity. “But of course you’re ex-
hausted, in your condition, Lady O’Flaherty. Allow me to escort
you to a seat, and get you some chilled wine,” he said loudly, leading
her from the floor. He found her a seat within a windowed alcove.
Though they were plainly visible to the entire room, they had the
privacy to talk without being overheard. Niall snatched two goblets
of wine from a passing valet, and handed her one.

Understanding the need for deception, she leaned back with half-
closed eyes feigning exhaustion. Her heart was hammering, not from
weariness but from the sudden realization that they had probably
been tricked. “What letter?” she asked again.

“I did not leave you willingly, Skye. Your father sent a little lad
up the vine outside your window, and the boy opened your bed-chamber door to the O’Malley and his men. I was gagged, and taken
from the room. I explained our plight to your father, but he would
not listen. Rather he had me knocked unconscious, and taken home
by one Captain MacGuire. The next day I was given a letter in which
you repudiated our relationship. For God’s sake, Skye, the handwriting was feminine, and I recognized the seal as the one on your
own ring.”

“We all have these rings, Niall. All my sisters, even Eibhlin.”

“I did not know,” he sighed deeply. “It would seem, my love,
that those two old spiders, our fathers, have gotten their way by foul
means. Damn them both!”

“Do you love her, Niall?”

“No. She was to be a nun, and in her heart she still is. She spends
more time on her knees than in our bed.”

“I’m glad!” she said fiercely, and he understood.

“The child-?”

“Is Dom’s. There is no doubt, Niall. I swear it! Do you think I
would be here if it were not?”

“Have you learned to love him then?”

“I will never love him, but I am his wife as you are Darragh’s
husband,” she said quietly. “And now, my lord, bid me good night,
for we are fast becoming the center of curiosity in the hall and I see
Dom coming.”

“I will find another opportunity to speak with you,” he said. He
did not leave her side, but stood waiting until Dom joined them.
”Your wife is fatigued from the dancing, O’Flaherty. You must take
good care of her since she carries your heir. You’re very fortunate
in that respect.”

Dom, taken off guard, was speechless. Niall bent over Skye’s
hand, briefly but tenderly kissing it. “Good night, Lady O’Flaherty.”
Then he was gone across the floor to rejoin the dancers.

“Will you escort me to our room, Dom? I am very tired.” She
fought to keep her voice flat. Dom must not know! Not even suspect!

“Of course, my love,” he answered, his voice sweet. Helping her
up, he walked her slowly from the hall. When they had gained their
room she asked him to call her maid. “Nay, love, I’ll maid you
myself, Skye.” His voice had become soft and caressing. It was a
dangerous sign. “There wasn’t a woman tonight who could compare
with you,” he murmured. “Every man envied me my beautiful wife.
Every one of them imagined what it would be like to stick himself
in you, but I’m the only one who can do that, Skye, aren’t I?” He
had her bodice unlaced now, and drew it off. His fingers swiftly
drew her gown and her petticoats down and off. Then her chemise,
and finally she stood naked and shivering in her embroidered stock-
ings with their gold ribbon and silk rosette garters. Slowly he let his
eyes wander over the new fullness of her breasts, and the sweet
swelling of her belly. His hand caressed the living roundness, and
Skye, barely breathing, prayed he would be satisfied by this show
of ownership.

“Kneel on the edge of the bed, Skye.”

She shivered. “Dom, please! It’s not good for the child.”

“Kneel, you little bitch! Or do you want me to believe what my
eyes told me when I looked across the hall tonight to see the fine
Lord Burke bending solicitously over my wife, ogling her tits? And
you! You encouraged him!”

“No! I didn’t!” Every muscle in her body tensed. Then, sighing,
she knelt on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up beneath her.
Her hands were clenched into tight balls. There was no fighting him.
Resistance brought further punishment.

He looked down at her, so meek, so obedient. He was angry with
her, and tempted to sodomize her, for he knew how she hated that
particular degradation. But he feared for the child. It was his son,
and it bound her irrevocably to him. Without the child she might
run to Niall Burke and become his leman, making the O’Flahertys
the laughingstock of all Connaught.

He did no more than loosen his codpiece and his organ, swollen
already, burst forth. He saw her shiver again, and the feeling of power her fear gave him aroused him further, He easily found his
way inside her, sliding his hands beneath her breasts to play with
the very sensitive nipples while he moved himself with long smooth
strokes. “Your hound does it mis way to the bitches in my kennel.
I’ve watched him many a time,” he murmured, biting the back of
her neck. She said nothing. To her relief he was finished quickly.
”I’m going back to the hall now,” he said. “Get some rest, Skye.”
Fastening his clothes, he was gone.

For a few moments she lay quietly, her face wet with silent tears.
Then she stood and, removing her stockings, wrapped herself in a
soft woolen robe before lying down again. If she could have boiled
her body she would have done so, but even that would not rid her
of the memory of his touch, the smell of his lust on her skin.

She could not stop the tears from flowing. It had all been too
much. Learning that her father and the MacWilliam had conspired
to keep Niall from her had come close to breaking her heart all over
again. It had been easier when she could simply hate Niall. Ex-
hausted, she slept.

The sudden sound of the door latch rasping woke her and she
tensed. Dom was back, and probably drunk. She lay quietly, hoping
he would believe she was sleeping.

“Skye,” came the soft whisper.

“Niall!” She sat up. “Are you mad? In God’s name go quickly
before Dom returns! Please, my lord!”

He shut the door quietly and drew the bolt closed. “Dom is lying
in the hall in a drunken stupor with his friends. My page is watching.
Should Dom awaken the lad will warn us long before he can get
here.” Dearest Heaven, she was beautiful, her black cloud of hair
swirling about her shoulders, her eyes enormous and dark with con-
cern. Niall sat on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms.
”You’ve been weeping.” It was a statement.

“It was easier when I thought you’d betrayed me,” she said softly,
believing he would understand.

“For me also, my darling.” He reached out and caressed her dark
hair.

“Your wife-T She had to ask.

“Is keeping one of her interminable vigils in the chapel. She does
it to avoid me, but I care not. Bedding her is like bedding a dead
thing.”

“Oh, Niall…” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his
shoulder.

“Skye! Ah, love, don’t weep! Damn, Skye, you’ll break my
heart!” His mouth gently found hers. Sighing deeply, she slid her
arms about his neck, and gave herself over into his keeping. His hand found the swell of her breast, and it seemed so natural, so
right. She pulled her lips away from him long enough to whisper,
”Yes, Niall! Oh, please love me!” Then her mouth fused fiercely
to his again, and she was lost in a burst of searing passion that swept
over her body instantly, nearly rendering her unconscious.

His hand gently caressed the ripening mound. “I wish to Heaven
he were mine,” he muttered huskily. “God! You’re so beautiful with
the babe growing in you, like one of the old Celtic fertility god-
desses.”

“I prayed so hard,” she whispered. “When I was at St. Bride’s
I prayed you’d gotten me with child. How I wept when I found it
wasn’t so. Eibhlin says they feared for my sanity. Then Dom
came…” her voice trailed off.

“I’ll kill him,” Niall said quietly.

“And what of your poor wife? Would you kill her also? What
harm has that unfortunate creature done to either of us? You say she
was to be a nun, and from what you tell me she had a true vocation.
Has she not been harmed as deeply as we?” Skye drew a deep breath
and pulled away from him, her blue eyes intent. “Niall! Oh, Niall,
my love! We are inescapably wed to other people. There is no hope
for us. I love you, Niall, but when I return to Ballyhennessey I want
never to set eyes on you again. I cannot see you and keep my love
for you from the world. Dom is already suspicious. I want no trouble
between the two of you, for he is foolish and apt to be treacherous.
I am not so innocent as to beg that you forget me. We will not
forget, either of us, but we must part.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “I cannot bear to lose you
again,” he said brokenly.

“Oh, my love, you never really had me,” she answered sadly.

For a few minutes longer they clung to each other, unwilling for
the bittersweet interlude to end. Then, kissing her tenderly, he laid
her back against the pillows. “I’ll find other times during this visit
when we can talk,” he said. “Promise me one thing, though. Promise
me you’ll ask my help should you ever need it. I will not rest easy
if you do not give me your word, Skye, and swear to it. I’ll not
have O’Flaherty mistreating you.”

“I do not fear Dom. As long as I play the beautiful and docile
wife for him in public, his vanity is fed enough.” She would not tell
him the truth, tell him of her husband’s degrading ways in their bed,
for it would only infuriate Niall and there was nothing he could do
about it. “Sit with me but a moment longer,” she begged. Smiling,
he took her hand. She closed her eyes. Soon she was asleep. Gently
drawing the featherbedding over her, he unbolted the door and
slipped from the room.

Making his way back to the banquet hall, Niall dismissed his
page for the night. Then, turning to seek his own quarters, he almost
collided with a young squire. “Your pardon, my lord, but the
MacWilliam would see you.” Niall nodded and immediately sought
the old man’s rooms.

He found his father sitting up in bed, a nightcap upon his leonine
head. His gouty foot was freshly bound, and he held a goblet in his
hand. Niall bent and sniffed the cup. “I thought malmsey was bad
for your foot,” he noted.

“That quack of a doctor tells me everything is bad for my foot.
I suppose if I could still fuck he’d tell me that was bad for my foot
also,” was the flinty retort. The MacWilliam paused. “I would say
that the beauteous young Lady O’Flaherty is bad for more than your
foot, Niall, my son.”

The two men eyed each other, and the MacWilliam sighed. “I
was wrong to force you into marriage with the O’Neill lass. I can
see O’Malley’s girl would have made you a better wife. Christ! Wed
seven months, and already with child! And she carries the babe well.
What a breeder! She’ll give O’Flaherty a houseful of sons, and still
have a waist a man could span with his two hands. And what a
beauty… that hair, and those Kerry-blue eyes, and those marvelous
tits! Damme, I wish I weren’t so old!”

Niall laughed, but his father now continued in a more serious
tone. “Keep away from her, Niall. O’Flaherty won’t wear the horns
of a cuckold gracefully. He’d kill you if he catches you with his
wife. I know you were with her in her bedchamber tonight while
her husband lay drunk in the hall. Be careful, lad! You’re my only
son, my heir, and I love you. Until you get a legitimate son, we’re
not safe.”

“Rest easy, Father. Skye and I but talked. If we had done it in
public the gossips would have had a field day.”

“You talked?! God’s nightshirt! If I were twenty years younger
and alone with that beauty, it would not have been talking I’d have
been doing!”

Again Niall laughed. “Come, Father, she’s six months gone with
child.”

“There are ways, boy.”

“I know, and perhaps if the child were mine-but it’s not. Be-
sides,” and here Niall eyed his father firmly, “finding out the trick
that you and O’Malley played to separate us has made Skye very
vulnerable. I would not hurt her further. I love her.”

“If she lost the babe then she’d be free of O’Flaherty,” said the
old man slyly. “His wife, yes, but free to come to you… and she would. I’d recognize any bastards she gave you as my heirs, for I
strongly doubt the O’Neill girl will ever conceive.”

“Don’t tempt me, Father. If you think Skye worthy to bear our
heirs, then surely she is worthy of our name as well. You see her
as nothing but a brood mare who will secure our immortality, but
I love Skye. I have never wanted any woman but her for my wife.”
He took a deep, ragged breath. “But O’Flaherty is strong and healthy.
He will probably live forever. She and I have no hope.”

“His death could be arranged… but you’re too noble for your
own good, Niall! Love has made you a weakling. If you don’t mean
to claim the woman for your own, then keep away from her else her
husband kills you in a fit of jealous rage,” growled the old man.

“Or I kill him,” mused Lord Burke quietly.

Chapter 6

Skye’s son, Ewan, was born in early spring. Eibhlin helped
deliver her new nephew, having come to the O’Flahertys’
immediately after Twelfth Night. Eibhlin was shocked by the
poverty of the O’Flahertys’ tower house. Anne had, of course,
repeated Skye’s descriptions of her home, but the nun had assumed
that Skye’s bitter disappointment over her marriage caused her to
exaggerate. Now she saw that everything Anne had reported was
dismayingly true.

The masonry of the tower house was in poor repair and there
were drafts everywhere. The floors were covered by nothing except
dirty, much-used rushes. The few wall hangings were threadbare
and virtually useless for warmth, let alone comfort. The furniture
was sparse as well. Eibhlin was puzzled. She knew that her father
and stepmother had sent a number of fine pieces along to Skye, but
when she questioned her younger sister all she got was a mumbled
answer about Gilly and Dom and their endless debts.

Having her sister with her made it a happy winter for Skye.
Ewan’s birth was a relaxed and easy one, and Eibhlin left four weeks
afterward. She returned within several months to aid her sister once
again, for Skye’s second son, Murrough, was separated from his
brother by but ten months.

Murrough made his entry into the world during a brutal midwinter storm. Fortunately this birth was also an easy one, for Eibhlin had
other factors beside the baby to contend with. The strong winds had
blown so hard that the floors of O’Flaherty House were covered
with half an inch of snow in some places. It had blown through
cracked walls and the sheepskin-covered windows. The fires had
gone out several times, and Eibhlin had been hard-pressed to keep
her sister and the newborn boy warm and dry. Eibhlin was angry.
She was ashamed that her sister should live this way. Skye’s dowry
gone to pay gaming debts, or for wine, or to buy gifts for the women
Dom and his father amused themselves with. Eibhlin made herself
a vow: Skye would have no more babes, especially so quickly, until
Dom grew up and took his responsibilities seriously.

“Ten months between babes is too soon,” she scolded. “Now you
must rest at least a year or two before conceiving again.”

‘Tell Dom,” said Skye weakly. “He’ll be on me within the month.
Despite his whores, he harbors a constant lust for me. Besides, I
thought I could not conceive as long as I nursed Ewan.”

“An old wives’ tale that has done more harm than you can imag-
ine,” replied Eibhlin. “And I shall talk to Dom myself. Then I’ll
give you the recipe for a potion that will prevent conception.”

“Eibhlin!” Skye was both amused and shocked. “And you a nun!
How on earth do you know such things?”

“I have as much knowledge as a doctor,” replied Eibhlin. “More
perhaps, since I have also learned midwifery and herbal medicine
from the old ones. Doctors scorn these things, but they are wrong
to do so. I can tell you several ways to prevent conception.”

“But does not the Church forbid such wicked practices, my sis-
ter?”

The nun answered forcefully, “The Church has not seen innocent
babes dying of starvation because there are too many mouths in the
family to feed. They have not seen little children and their sickly
mothers freezing to death, blue with the cold, because there are not
enough blankets or clothes in the hovels they call houses-not even
food or wood for warmth! What do the well-fed priests and bishops,
snug in their stone houses on this snowy night, know of these poor
souls and their endless torments?

“I help where I can, Skye. For those innocent and superstitious
poor I offer a ‘tonic’ to help them regain their strength after the
ordeal of several births. They know not what I give them. If they
did, they would not take it because they truly believe the Church’s
threat of eternal damnation. You, sister, are not so foolish.”

“No, Eibhlin, I am not. And I want no more of Dom’s children.
I will not be made old before my time, nor shall I nurse this child knowing what I do now. One of Dom’s women gave birth but a
month ago. She has breasts like udders, and it will amuse me to
have her nurse both Dom’s’ son and his bastard. She can live in the
nursery with both boys and have Ewan’s wet nurse for company.”

“You’ve grown hard, Skye.”

“If I were not, Eibhlin, I should not be able to survive in this
house. You have been here enough to know what the O’Flahertys
are like.”

The nun nodded. “Have you had any luck in finding a husband
for Claire?”

“None, and I’m not likely to unless I can convince Da to dower
her. Gilly and Dom have gambled away the dowry left to Claire by
her mother. There’s nothing left. And if I didn’t know better, I
would swear she was a half-wit, for she cares not. The few young
men who have come calling have been met with indifference. One
is too fat, another too lean. This one is a buffoon, but that one lacks
a sense of humor. One is too ardent in his wooing, and another has
no blood in his veins. I don’t understand her at all! She has no
religious vocation, no passion for anyone so far as I can see. Nor
does she seem to desire to control her own life, as I did. She cares
for nothing.”

“Perhaps she is merely content to stay with her father and brother.
Some women are like that.”

Skye looked candidly at her sister. “Do you really think Claire
O’Flaherty is like that, Eibhlin?”

“No,” came the quick reply. “She’s a sly and secretive girl for
all she looks like an angel. There is something…” and here Eibhlin
hesitated, loath to criticize yet genuinely concerned. ‘There is some-
thing unwholesome about Claire,” she finally finished.

Skye agreed. But there seemed nothing she could do with Claire
unless she could find a husband for her. What bothered Skye most
was that Claire always appeared to be laughing at her, hugging some
secret to herself that she would not share with anyone else, least of
all Skye.

Eibhlin soon left to return to St. Bride’s, but she talked to Dom
first. He said later, “Since your sister tells me your health will suffer
if I get another son on you, you can hardly complain if I seek
diversion elsewhere.”

“Have I ever complained before?” she asked him, amused, hiding
her delight in the knowledge that she would be spared.

“Nay, you’re a good lass, and you’ve given me two fine boys.”

Skye smiled sweetly, and bit her tongue to keep from laughing.
Dom saw her only as a credit to himself. She had become, he thought, exactly what he’d always wished her to be-a gracious
chatelaine and a good breeder. He was willing to be generous now,
to leave her alone for the time being.

Her life now took on a sameness, giving her the peace she craved.
She worked to run the estate so that it supported them all and still
paid the MacWilliam his annual tribute as their overlord. Neither
Dom nor his father cared what she did as long as they had the time
and the wherewithal to pursue their own pleasures.

She drove her peasants hard, though she was fair. Used to the
laxity of the O’Flahertys, they had gotten out of hand. At first they
resented her, but when winter came and the peasants found them-
selves warm, dry, and well fed for the first time in years, they
blessed their lady. She had managed the miracle of preparing them
for winter.

Then Ewan was past two, and Murrough sixteen months, and one
day Skye realized that in all those sixteen months Dom still hadn’t
come near her. Silently she blessed the woman or women who were
keeping her husband amused. And it came to her that it had been
many months since she had heard any gossip linking Dom with any
particular woman. It was a disquieting thought.

It was June again, and Skye was eighteen. The weather was
unusually sunny and warm for Ireland. Her healthy, fully healed
young body was beginning to crave loving once again, even Dom’s.
Though they had been invited twice more to spend Twelfth Night
with the MacWilliam, she had kept to Ballyhennessey, using her
pregnancy as an excuse not to travel, and playing ill the second time.

She dared not see Niall again, although both her mind and her
body craved him with a desperation that almost tore her apart. With
the knowledge imparted to her by Eibhlin, she might easily have
become his mistress, with no one the wiser. The temptation had
been fierce, but she held herself in too high a regard to be anything
less than his cherished wife.

Dom and his father had attended the Twelfth Night revelries.
Skye had insisted that they go to the MacWilliam’s castle, leaving
her behind with her babes. Though she had impressed upon the two
men the importance of every opportunity in finding Claire a husband,
they had returned both times to say that no suitable husband could
be found. Skye could not understand it. Thanks to Dubhdara
O’Malley, Claire now had a respectable dowry that neither her father
nor her brother could steal. Either the girl was being too fussy, or
else there was someone in Claire’s life whom she knew was not
suitable, but foolishly sought after anyway. Skye was determined
to find out what was going on. for Claire O’Flaherty was seventeen now and Skye did not want to have her with them the rest of their
days.

Skye picked her time carefully, choosing an evening, after the
meal, when both Gilly and Dom had disappeared. She had seen
Claire head for her own rooms at the very top of the tower house.
Skye had never been there before. She had never been asked, and
there had never before been a reason to violate Claire’s privacy.

When the house had quieted, she slowly climbed the stairs to her
sister-in-law’s apartment. Entering the dayroom, Skye was shocked
to find many of her long-missing dowry items. The windows were
hung with the French velvets she had planned to use in her own
chambers. The small polished oak sideboard Dubhdara and Anne
had had made particularly for her stood against one wall. On it was
her small silver tray with her hand-blown Venetian goblets and
decanters! “God’s nightshirt!” she swore under her breath. “I’ll skin
the sly bitch!” Dear God! There were her silver bowls and candle-
sticks! Stunned, then furious, Skye was about to storm off to seek
out her husband and demand an explanation when she heard laughter
and the murmur of voices-one very definitely masculine-from the
bedchamber above.

So, she thought, Mistress Claire does have a lover! Well, whoever
he is he’ll soon find he has himself a new wife, unless, God forbid,
he already has one. Serf or lord, she’ll wed him! Silently Skye crept
up the stairs, reaching the little landing, then neared the bedcham-
ber’s half-open door. The closer she got the more vividly she heard
the sounds of vigorous lovemaking. Reaching the door, she peeked
into the room.

What she saw confirmed her suspicions. Claire and a man, both
naked, were intertwined. Color flooded Skye’s face at the sight of
Claire’s long, white legs wrapped tightly about her lover. He brutually rammed himself into the writhing, straining woman. Claire
began to moan.

“Harder, Dom! Harder! Yes, yes, brother darling! It’s so good!
So good!”

Skye felt the first wave of nausea sweep over her as she clung
to the door. Dom! Claire’s lover was Dom! Her own brother! Slowly
Skye slipped to the floor, still clutching the door, faint with the
sight.

“Whore!” Dom growled. “What a little whore you are, sweet
sister mine. Shall I fuck you until you can’t stand up? I’ve done it
before, haven’t I? Tonight, however, it pleases me to fuck you till
you beg me for mercy, and then you’ll pleasure me in a hundred
other ways I can invent!”

“Yes, yes…” breathed Claire. “Whatever you want, my darling!
I’ll do whatever you want! Oh, Dom, don’t I always?”

Still on her knees, Skye was frozen with both horror and terror.

“On your hands and knees, bitch!”

Claire scrambled to obey, and was quickly and cruelly sodomized
by her brother. Skye felt the bitter taste of bile rise in her constricted
throat as Claire panted, “Hurt me, Dom! Yes! Hurt me!”

Still Dom did not spend. Now he lay his sister on her back and,
straddling her, put himself into her open, eager mouth. Skye closed
her eyes to blot out the sight, but she could not close her ears to the
throaty, gobbling noises made by Claire, or the groans of pleasure
made by Dom. Unable to contain herself, Skye sobbed aloud.

Claire shrieked, “Oh, my God! There’s someone here! Someone
has seen us!”

Dom leapt from the bed and, yanking the door fully open, caught
sight of his half-fainting wife. “Well, well,” he murmured nastily,
”what have we here? It’s my sweet wife.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “Bitch! How dare you spy on me!” she
shrieked.

“I wasn’t s-spying.” Skye’s voice was shaking. “I came to t-talk
to you about getting m-married.”

Dom began to laugh uproariously, but a look from his sister
quieted him. “Married?! Why on earth would I want to marry, you
ninny?” rasped Claire. “The only man I’ve ever loved is Dom, and
I don’t ever intend leaving him. He’s mine! The only reason he
married you was for the money, and to get heirs. He’s got both now,
and we don’t need you at all, except to run the estate for us. So get
out of here, and don’t ever come back again snooping and spying!”

Skye turned to flee but Dom’s big hand grasped her shoulder.
His other hand slid around to squeeze her breast and as the nipple
hardened he laughed softly. “It’s been a long time, Skye.”

She tried to pull away. Claire snarled from the bed, “Leave her
be, brother! You don’t need her as long as you have me!”

“Be quiet, bitch! She has pleasured me too, and now I think I
would have you both at the same time.”

“No!” wailed Skye, struggling to reach the door, but his arms
closed about her and Claire, a sudden vicious look in her pale-blue
eyes, reached out and ripped Skye’s gown from her. As her sister-
in-law’s body became more visible, Claire’s gaze softened, becom-
ing almost dreamy, and she reached out again, this time to caress
Skye’s body. Skye shrank from her touch, sick with revulsion. Claire
laughed nastily. “Let me have her first, brother. Let me prepare her
for you, please! You can watch while I love her. Remember how
you loved watching me and the little maid I once had?”

“No, Dom! Oh, God, no!”

Dom smiled sweetly at his sister, his eyes bright with memory.
Then he nodded. “I’ll watch, but when I’m ready, Claire, you must
give over. Promise me now? No teasing like you did with little
Sorcha.”

“Yes, darling,” Claire purred, and then with Dom’s aid they tied
the struggling Skye’s arms to the bedposts.

Claire straddled her victim and, holding Skye’s head between her
hands, she kissed her slowly, and wetly. Skye seemed faint and,
laughing, Claire began leisurely to explore the shrinking flesh. The
degradation she was inflicting added to her enjoyment. Taking
Skye’s nipples between her thumb and forefinger, she rolled them
gently before bending and sucking on them. Bound though she was,
Skye fought to escape, but her helplessness only stimulated her
antagonist/

Slowly Claire slid her lush body down Skye’s until their breasts
and bellies met. Then she rotated her pelvis and mons veneris against
Skye’s, murmuring vilely, “Don’t tell me that, with all the sisters
you have, you’ve not done a bit of girl-fucking in your time. And
remember-while we pleasure each other, Dom is watching us and
readying himself for both of us, big bull that he is. Don’t fight me,
sister, for now that you know about Dom and me there’s no reason
we cannot share him and enjoy each other all the time.”

Skye turned her head away, ashamed of what was happening to
her and confused by the stirrings of desire she was beginning to feel.
Claire thrust and moaned against Skye’s helpless body with increas-
ing fervor until suddenly Dom pulled her away and, mounting his
wife, thrust into her.

Skye screamed, which only seemed to madden him. Claire was
now kneeling within Skye’s view, slack-mouthed with lust as she
watched her brother use his wife. When Dom had sated himself with
Skye he rolled off her and loosened her bonds. He pushed her away,
pulled his sister over, and mounted her next, Skye curled into a
tight, protective ball, and sobbed. She had never felt so fouled in
her entire life. She knew that if anyone so much as touched her
again, she would kill.

Strengthened by this realization, she marshaled her courage and
crawled off the bed. Stumbling across the room, she reached the
door. Dom and his sister had finished by this time and Claire saw
her. She cried out, “She’s escaping, Dom! Get her back! I want her
again!”

Dom lurched off the bed and lunged for his wife. Skye had now
wrenched the door open. As he reached out for her, Skye sidestepped
him. Dom stumbled through the door, lost his balance, and fell screaming headlong down the flight of stone steps leading to his
sister’s day chamber.

There was a stunned silence. He lay still, twisted grotesquely.
Claire leaped from the bed and stood gazing down into the room
below. Then she turned on Skye and howled, “You’ve killed him!
You’ve killed Dom!”

Holy Mother forgive me, thought Skye, but I hope so! Then as
relief brought strength sweeping over her, she turned on Claire and
furiously slapped her, leaving the imprint of her hand on the girl’s
face. “Shut up, you vicious little bitch! Shut up!”

“We must get help,” whimpered Claire.

“Not yet.”

“You do want him dead,” came the horrified accusation.

“I’ll not deny it,” said Skye flatly, and Claire shrank away from
her. “But before we can get help we must all dress. How will it look
to the servants to find the three of us mother naked? I’ll not put that
scandal on my sons. Get dressed! Then go and fetch me some clothes
from my room. Quickly!”

The procedure seemed to take forever, but at last both women
were dressed. Struggling together, they forced Dom into his clothes.
To Skye’s sorrow, he was still breathing.

“Now,” said Skye, “rouse the house.”

“What will I tell them?” quavered Claire.

“That Dom has had an accident. I will handle the rest. Go, now!”

Claire fled, shrieking loudly enough to rouse the entire household,
and quickly the room was filled with babbling servants. Skye calmly
directed the removal of her injured husband to his own rooms. The
family’s surgeon was sent for and arrived as the dawn was breaking.

Dom lived, but it would have been better if he had died. His
spine was broken in two places. He was paralyzed from the waist
down. He would not walk, or function as a man, ever again.

Skye thanked the surgeon, paid his fee, and sent him away. Then
she took on the O’Flahertys. Gilly blustered at her. “Claire says
you’re responsible for my son’s condition.”

“Your son is responsible for his own condition,” replied Skye
coldly. “Last night after the meal was finished and I had seen to my
household duties, I went to your daughter’s rooms to speak to her
about arranging a marriage. I found her and your precious son fuck-
ing merrily! And it was not the first time they had engaged in
mis… incest! When I tried to flee from them they ripped my clothes
from me, and used me vilely! Both of them! I tried to escape again
and Dom lunged at me. When I stepped aside he fell through the
open door and down the stairs. I’m only sorry he didn’t break his
damned neck! It would have saved me the trouble of caring for him.

If you still believe that I have wronged your son, Gilly, then we
will take our case and place it before the MacWilliam.”

“Yes!” sobbed Claire. “For once in your life, Father, take the
initiative! Dom will spend the rest of his life half a man because of
her! She deserves to be punished!”

Skye drew herself up proudly and looked down upon the vengeful
Claire. “Yes, Claire,” she purred. “Take your case to the Mac-
William. Do! And then be prepared either to prove your virginity
before the midwives’ panel or name your lover! Who will you say
it is, Claire? One of the serfs? I think not. You’re far too proud a
bitch to admit to fucking with a serf. Who then? There is no one
else! No one ever comes to visit you. No one! Perhaps you could
claim the Devil for your lover. In a sense, you’d be speaking the
truth.”

Skye’s father-in-law looked suddenly old, and defeated. Claire
wept helplessly. Skye’s next words held a finality. “I am going home
to Innisfana,” she announced. “And I am taking my sons with me.
I will not be back. Since Claire loves her brother so deeply she will
remain here to care for him for the rest of his life. I will see that
Da withdraws her dowry. She has no chance of a decent marriage
without it, and I would not, knowing what I do now, see her wed
with some poor unsuspecting lad. She will be fed and clothed at my
expense, or she may go with what she has. The choice is hers.

“Frang the bailiff will run the estate for me, and answer to me
alone. This is, after all, to be Ewan’s inheritance someday and I
want it turned over to him in good condition.

“Gilly, you will be taken care of, but my father’s lawyers will
shortly have a paper for you to sign that will prevent you from
gambling away any part of the estate. Mark me well, Gilly. I will
not pay for your wines, your women, or your gambling debts!”

“Father! Are you going to let her do this to us!?”

Gilly stared straight ahead and Skye smiled triumphantly. “Yes,
Claire, he is! He knows the alternative. I will bring my case before
the MacWilliam-and before the Church! If I do I will accuse you
not only of incest with your brother, but of witchcraft as well! You
deserve to bum for what you’ve been doing!”

“I love him!” Claire screamed.

“You were his sister!”

“I loved him,” Claire repeated, “From the time we first bedded
when I was but a maid of eleven. I was the only woman who ever
really satisfied Dom.”

Skye looked pityingly at Claire. “In the years that Dom has left
we will see how much you really love him.”

In the morning Skye bid her husband an unemotional farewell.

“I hope you enjoyed what you and your sister did the other night,
for the memory of it will have to last you a lifetime!”

“Bitch!” he snarled at her. “What kind of a woman are you to
leave me?”

“A better woman than you ever knew or appreciated, Dom. Your
conduct with your sister has wiped free any obligation on my part
toward you. Farewell.”

He struggled to rise. “Bitch! Come back! I command you, Skye!
Come back!”

She never turned back. His voice, alternating between curses,
threats, and pleas, followed her until the sound became quite un-
intelligible and finally faded altogether.

Skye rode away from the O’Flaherty house, Ewan before her on
her saddle. Behind her were the carts carrying her younger son, the
two nurses, and her household goods.

But when Skye reached lnnisfana several days later there was no
peaceful haven there. Dubhdara O’Malley lay dying, having been
badly injured by a falling mast in a storm as he was bringing his
ship home. A stubborn man, he had refused to die until he reached
his home, and until he had seen his youngest daughter. The mes-
senger he sent to Skye had found her as she took ship for lnnisfana
Island.

She was barely in time to bid her father a final farewell. Tearful,
she kissed his cold and sweating brow. “I’m back for good, Da.”

He nodded. Explanations were unimportant now. “Your brothers
are too young for the ships yet,” he gasped weakly. “You’ve got to
take charge for me.”

It never crossed her mind that he was thrusting a huge respon-
sibility upon her. She answered simply, “I will.”

“You’re the best of them, lassie. Even the boys.”

“Oh, Da,” she whispered. “Oh, Da, I do love you!”

“Skye, lass, this time follow your heart,” were Dubhdara
O’Malley’s last words to his favorite child. He died a few minutes
later, holding her hand.

Her beautiful blue eyes overflowing, she looked wordlessly to
her uncle Seamus. “I heard him,” he said, “and I’ll uphold your
rights, Skye. You’re the new O’Malley, and may God be with you
for you’ll be needing all the help you can get.”

Skye looked to her stepmother. “I heard him, and I trust you,”
said Anne. “You’ll do right by us all. Besides, it’s your full brother
Michael who is the next male in line, not my lads.”

“In this family,” answered Skye, “it’s not necessarily the eldest,
but the most competent. At least two of your boys show more promise than Michael. He’s most like my mother, lord help him.
He’s more likely to follow Our Lord Christ than the sea. Am I not
right, Uncle?”

Seamus O’Malley nodded. “He’d asked me to talk with Dubh.
He wants to enter St. Padraic’s and become a priest.”

Skye turned to Anne. “You see. It rests with Brian and Shane
now.”

As quickly as the family of the O’Malley chief could be assem-
bled, they determined the length of the wake and the date of the
funeral. With Seamus O’Malley and Anne to back her, Skye was
reluctantly recognized as the new O’Malley by her brothers-in-law
and her very shocked sisters. Her clansmen and vassals came quickly,
almost joyfully, to pay their homage to Skye, the new O’Malley.

The next step was a journey to the MacWilliam’s stronghold to
pledge him her fealty. Only Anne, Eibhlin, and her uncle knew the
truth behind her leaving her husband. All three were horrified, but
swore to keep the secret. Seamus O’Malley added to his niece’s
mystique by claiming that she had returned home because of a dream
in which her father called her from over the waves. The men who
had sailed with her father and with her when she was a child cir-
culated once again the old tales of her bravery and skill. The
MacWilliam would have been hard pressed indeed to deny Skye her
inheritance.

She rode into his stronghold with all her captains escorting her.
Niall Burke watched her arrival from one of the towers of the castle,
and wondered what would happen between them now. She rode
astride, as she had in the old days, and upon the black stallion, Finn.
She was dressed in Lincoln green hose, over which she wore high
brown cordoba leather boots, and a mid-thigh-length doeskin jerkin
with silver buttons. Beneath the jerkin was a cream-colored silk shirt
with small pearl buttons. Her glorious blue-black hair was parted
in the center and twisted into a smooth coil at the nape of her neck.
Her gardenia skin was a little flushed. Upon her left hand he could
see a blue flash, and knew she wore the great sapphire ring that had
been her father’s seal of office.

He descended from the tower, and strode swiftly to his own
quarters. To his surprise Darragh was waiting for him. The three
years of their marriage had been a bad joke, and he rarely saw her,
let alone cohabited with her. It was obvious that she would never
conceive him a child. She had never come to him willingly, and
each time he had taken her it had been a battle in which she yielded
to the flesh and then did penance for her weakness. She had had
coarse brown robes made up for herself, robes that resembled those worn by her old religious order. She rarely bathed, believing it a
concession to the flesh. For over a year now she had spent her days
and nights in constant prayer. He no longer went near her. Her
personal habits disgusted him, and attempting to claim his rights
seemed now like raping a nun, a thing for which Niall Burke had
no taste.

He greeted her courteously, and she replied, “Lady O’Flaherty
is here to see your father, Niall. Why has she come?”

“Her father has died, Darragh, and it was his deathbed wish that
she take over his duties until her brothers are grown. She is now the
O’Malley, and she has come to pledge her fealty to her overlord.”

“And what of her husband? I have been given to understand that 
she tried to murder him and then left him, taking his sons with her.
He lies paralyzed for life with only his loyal sister to care for him.”

“Where did you obtain this information, Darragh?” He kept his
voice quiet and level.

“I have a letter from the unfortunate Lady Claire O’Flaherty
begging me to intercede with the MacWilliam on her poor brother’s
behalf.”

“I do not believe the tale, Darragh. I have never known Skye to
be anything but generous and thoughtful.”

“Those are not the qualities that made the O’Malley leave her in
charge of his small empire,” noted Darragh shrewdly. It was an
unusually sensible observation for Darragh.

“Skye would never harm anyone. I refuse to believe it!”

“Of course you do not believe it. You lust after her, but for the
sake of your immortal soul you must not yield to her wiles, Niall!”,

He laughed bitterly. “Whose wiles would you have me yield to
then, wife? Yours? Let me tell you something about Skye O’Malley,
my dear. The last time I saw her she told me she never wanted to
set eyes on me again because, through an awful quirk of fate, we
were wed to other people. I then said I would kill her husband. She
chided me, asking what I would do with my own wife, kill her also?
She said you had been as wronged as the rest of us were, and we
must all make the best of our situations. She would tempt neither 
herself nor me by seeing me again.”

“Ah! The most wicked ones are always the most clever, Niall!
She has skillfully misled you into believing her virtuous. Beware
of her! Beware!” And with a strange look in her weak blue eyes,
Darragh turned and left him.

Niall went about the business of changing his clothes. His father
had told him he wanted him there when the O’Malley swore her
fealty, for she must swear it not only to the MacWilliam, but also to his heir. He debated whether to be elegant or simple, finally
settling on black velvet because it was both.

Entering the main hall of the castle, he was surprised to find that
Skye had not changed from her riding clothes. Her captains at her
back, she knelt. Placing her hands in the old and gnarled ones of
the MacWilliam, and then into Niall’s warm firm grasp, she twice
swore her loyalty to the Burkes, then rose gracefully to accept their
kiss of peace. Lord Burke noted the pride and love flowing from the
eyes of the rough-looking O’Malley captains. That they adored her
was obvious, and he was reassured to know that she would sail with
such devoted men.

Then suddenly, to everyone’s shock and embarrassment, Darragh
appeared in their midst, her nun’s robes swirling about her, and cried
out, “My lord the MacWilliam, on behalf of the O’Flahertys of
Ballyhennessey I cry for judgment against this evil woman! Oh,
wicked whore of Babylon, your days of evil are numbered! The Lord
God will strike thee down with fire and the sword!”

Skye looked swiftly to Niall, her eyes filled with pity.

“Clear the hall, dammit!” shouted the MacWilliam, red-faced and
very angry. When all but the four of them had gone, the old man
turned on Darragh. “I hope, madam, that you have a bloody fine
explanation for this intrusion, and for your unwanted charges!”

“No longer ‘madam,’ sir, but Sister Mary Penitent. That was to
have been my name before you stole me from my convent, and
forced me into carnal bondage with your son. It will soon be my
name again, for I will no longer remain here, but return to St.
Mary’s. Before I go, however, I will right a great wrong done by
this wicked woman. First, she deliberately crippled her husband.
Then she willfully deserted him, stealing both his sons and his
money. She must be punished! God demands it!”

“What the hell nonsense is this?” roared the MacWilliam.

“She claims to have a letter from Claire O’Flaherty,” said Niall
quietly to his father.

“The lying, deceitful bitch!” said Skye furiously, and the
MacWilliam and his son grinned at each other.

“All right, O’Malley, what’s your explanation?” demanded the
old man.

Skye glanced scornfully at Darragh. “Is she strong enough to hear
the truth of this? It’s not very pretty.”

“Speak, O’Malley,” commanded the MacWilliam.

“Claire O’Flaherty lies, my lord. I caught her and her brother,
my husband, in incest.” Skye outlined the story, concluding; “When
I dodged him, he fell down a flight of stairs.”

Darragh Burke, who had turned white at the mention of the word
”incest,” gave a moan of horror and fell to the floor in a faint. The
MacWilliam and his son glanced briefly at her, then returned their
attentions to Skye.

“The surgeon said Dom will never walk again. Under the cir-
cumstances, I feel no obligation to him. The estate was in a ruinous
condition when I married Dom. Your annual tributes had not been
paid in three years, but it is all paid up now, thanks to me. The
O’Flaherty lands are again prosperous because of my skillful man-
agement. This, despite Dom’s having gambled and whored away
my dowry. Claire O’Flaherty owes me for every mouthful of food
she consumes, every drop she drinks, the very clothes on her back..
She might have been safely wed, but for her own crimes. It was her
choice to remain at Ballyhennessey and commit incest with her
brother rather than wed her own man. When Dom was injured I told
her she could stay and nurse him or go, as she pleased.” Skye looked
hard at the MacWilliam. “If you feel her charges have merit, my
lord, I will abide by your decision.”

The old man reached out and gently stroked Skye’s beautiful hair.
”There is no merit in her charges, O’Malley,” he said gruffly. “If
she will not accept my decision in this matter, then I shall turn her
over to the Church. They will deal with the wench far more harshly
than you or I would.” He smiled at Skye. “Now, lass, will you
accept my hospitality for a few days’ time? You’ve come through
a hard time and you’ve great responsibility ahead of you.”

She smiled back at him, and he thought again how extraordinarily
beautiful she was. For the briefest moment he regretted his age and
his infirmities. He envied his son this beautiful woman who would
undoubtedly become his mistress.

“I will accept your kindness, my lord, but only for a day. You’re
right in that I am now laden with responsibilities. My father’s entire
fleet stands awaiting my orders, and they must remain idle until I
have studied his books. My eldest brother prefers the Church to the
sea, and though I will train him in my father’s ways, for boys are
known to be fickle creatures with changeable minds, I doubt that
Michael will change. Therefore it will be my half-brother, Brian,
who’s most likely to become the next O’Malley. He is but six now.
It will be at least ten years before he can take over his duties. Then,
too, there are my own two sons to raise.”

“Stop, lassie!” said the MacWilliam. “You’re exhausting me. It’s
too much for a woman to take on, and I wonder at your father, God
assoil him.”

Skye looked at the old man proudly. “My father knew I would
not fail him. He might have chosen any of my sister’s husbands, or even my uncle Seamus, but he chose me. I am the O’Malley!” Then
her look softened, and her eyes, which had been a deep purple-blue,
lightened to a clear blue-green. ‘Tonight, however, I shall be just
Skye O’Malley, and your most grateful guest.” She turned without
another word and walked from the room.

The Mac William bellowed for a servant, who quickly removed
the still unconscious Darragh. “If you mean to have the O’Malley
lass,” he said to Niall, “you had best tame her quickly, my son. This
is no milk-and-water wench, but a full-blown woman. Once she gets
the bit of power into her teeth, you’ll not easily get a bridle on her.
I’ll see if I can start annulment proceedings on your marriage, for
the O’Neill girl belongs back in her convent. As to O’Flaherty, the
health of a cripple is precarious at best. I trust you’re not too noble
to object if we assist him now to a better life… discreetly, of
course.”

Niall shook his head without hesitation. “May I speak to Skye
of marriage?”

The old man grinned wickedly. “If ‘twill aid you in your wooing,
yes, and I imagine you’ll need all the help you can get. She’s a
strong-minded woman.”

Niall grinned back as he strode from the hall and headed for
Skye’s chambers. His heart was singing. She was his! They would
finally be together, and they would make marvelous love, and she
would bear him strong sons and beautiful daughters, and they would
be happy. He burst into her room, startling Mag, and a half-clothed
Skye.

“My father’s starting the annulment proceedings, my love. We
can soon be wed!”

He reached out for her, but she eluded him. “Mag! Get out! I’ll
call you.” Then, “Don’t touch me, Niall! I cannot bear to be touched.
I told you what they did to me. I never want to be touched again!
I am happy you’re to be free of Darragh O’Neill; but find yourself
another wife, my lord. My husband lives, and even if he did not,
I would not remarry. I will never again put myself at a man’s mercy.”
She shuddered deeply.

He was stunned. This was not the girl he had known. “Skye, my
love,” he began gently, “I know they have hurt you; but / never hurt
you. Remember how it was with us? It was sweetness beyond mea-
sure. Come, love,” and he held out his hand to her, “come let me
love you, and wipe away the unhappy memories.”

“Niall!” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please understand. I cannot
even bear for Mag to touch me. My own good Mag. I bore Dom’s
brutal lovemaking for three years. Even then I remembered how it
had been with us, and I prayed that someday we could be together.

There was no obscenity that Dom forced upon me that spoiled you
for me, not ever. Not until the night he and his vile sister…” She
could not go on.

He finished it quietly for her. “Until the night they both raped
you.”

“Aye,” she said, and was silent once more.

“I do understand,” he said as his deep voice, soothing and tenderly
warm, sought to reassure and comfort her. “The wounds are still too
new and I, in my happiness, have foolishly assumed you would
share my joy at the prospect of our being together again. Forgive
me, my love. You have suffered two wicked shocks, and now you’re
burdened with an awesome responsibility. You’ll need time to adjust,
and you shall have it, sweetheart!”

Her lashes were silken smudges against her pale skin. A great
wave of pity washed over him as two crystalline tears slipped from
beneath her closed eyelids and down her cheeks. He wanted to reach
out, enfold her in his arms, comfort her, wipe away completely all
the terrible hurt. But he stood with clenched fists and fought to
maintain a rigid control on himself lest he frighten her, and risk
losing her forever.

Finally she spoke. “I love you, Niall. I have never loved anyone
else.”

“I know Skye,” he answered quietly, “and that is why I will
wait.”

“What?!” Her wet jewel eyes flew open.

“Yes, my precious love. Wait. In time the terror will fade, and
when it does I will be here, Skye. Be it a month from now, or a
year. Or ten years.”

“You need an heir, Niall. Your father wants one so very much.”

“You’ll give me one someday, my love.”

“You’re mad.” But a small smile played at the corners of her
mouth.

“Not mad, my darling, simply in love with a wild and sweet
vixen who will eventually come home to me again.”

Suddenly she held out her hand to him. He grasped it, and felt
her tremble, but she did not pull away. “Give me time, Niall. I will
come back to you! I know now that I will! Just give me time.”

A wonderful warm smile lit his face, turning his mouth up at the
edges, crinkling his silvery eyes at the corners. “Madam, I offer you
whatever time you need, for I have surely never known anything
better worth waiting for than you.” He bowed low over her slim
hand, his cool lips gently brushing her skin, sending a small shiver-
was it revulsion, or was it desire?-rippling through her. Then,
straightening, he turned and left her chambers.

Skye stood frozen, barely breathing. He loved her! Despite it all,
he still loved her! He was willing to wait! And now, as she felt the
blood begin to course through her veins, wanning her as she had
not been warmed since that terrible night, she knew it would be all
right. The horrible memories were fresh, but she would heal even-
tually. And when she did, Niall would be waiting!

On the following day the O’Malley thanked her overlord for his
hospitality and, after a short ride to the coast, sailed home to Innisfana Island.

Within the month word came to the MacWilliam that
the transition from the old to the new O’Malley had been made
smoothly, and that the fleet was sailing once again.

So Niall Burke waited. The healing process had begun for Skye,
and when it was complete they would be together forever. He would
not go to her before then. There was plenty of time.

Chapter 7

A year passed, and Dom died. His death, though sudden, was
not unexpected. With the loss of his legs he had lost the will
to live. Claire O’Flaherty disappeared shortly after the visit
of an English cousin, and only Gilly remained at Ballyhennessey, a sad shadow of his former self, content to spend his days
and nights in a drunken haze. The estate was well managed by Frang,
the bailiff.

The small, prosperous trading empire of the O’Malleys grew more
prosperous through Skye’s skillful handling, and the MacWilliam
was forced to admit that Dubhdara O’Malley had known exactly
what he was doing when he had placed his daughter in charge. How
she would behave in wartime was another matter, and he had yet
to call upon her for that.

At nine, Michael O’Malley was more a priest than child, his
calling so obvious that Skye finally sent him to school at the mon-
astery of St. Brendan’s, preparatory to his entering the priesthood
at sixteen. He would not take his final vows until he was twenty,
by which time his two oldest half-brothers would have wed and
probably produced heirs.

Brian and Shane, at seven and a half and six and a half, had
begun the process of learning about the sea, about ships, and about
their late father’s half-legal, half-illegal methods of doing business.

Brian was assigned to a ship named Western Wind, and Shane went
aboard the North Star. Neither ship would ever be out when the
other was also out, and occasionally the boys were at home at the
same time, which gave Skye a chance to see her half-brothers work-
ing together, and to evaluate them as they grew. Each was a true
O’Malley, taking to the sea as to an old and respected friend. Skye
wished her father could have seen them, for he would have been
proud.

With the aid of Bishop O’Malley, and the donation of a fine
manor to the Church, Niall Burke was finally given an annulment
from his wife Darragh O’Neill, and she happily returned to her
convent, where she quickly took final vows. On his son’s behalf,
the MacWilliam sent to Seamus O’Malley and formally requested
his niece’s hand in marriage. With her permission, the negotiations
would begin at once.

“I don’t know now,” said Skye mischievously.

“Christ’s bones!” roared the bishop, for a moment so like his late
brother that his niece burst into laughter. Looking very aggrieved,
the bishop demanded, “What do you mean, you don’t know now?
From the moment Niall Burke looked at you nothing would do but
that you have him! Now you can, and you don’t know if you will? 
God Almighty woman! Make up your mind!” His plump face was
red, and his blue eyes almost black with anger.

Skye’s laughter died in her throat. Kneeling, she leaned her silky
head against the prelate’s knee. “It isn’t because I don’t love Niall,
Uncle. I do. He is the only man for me, and he always will be. But
I am no longer a girl whose only interest is her man and their babes.
Perhaps I never really was.”

“Beware, lassie,” warned Seamus O’Malley. ‘This is the
MacWilliam and his heir that we deal with. They are your overlords.”

“Let them beware also!” shot back Skye. “/ am the O’Malley!”

Seamus O’Malley mastered his temper. “What is it you want,
Niece? Specifically.”

“My marriage must not affect my status as the O’Malley, and
neither must my husband or my father-in-law interfere with that.
The responsibility for the clan remains mine until I see fit to pass
it on to one of my brothers. Da wanted it that way. I will not have
the Burkes dabbling greedy fingers into the O’Malley coffers!

“I will come to them with a dowry worthy of a princess, but that
is all they will receive. I want no interference by the Burkes into
O’Malley affairs.”

The bishop nodded. “Tis shrewd you are, Niece, but I don’t
know if we can get the MacWilliam to swallow such a big pill. He’s
a sly old man.”

“Come, Uncle, you’re a brilliant negotiator. Did you not arrange
with your ‘friends’ in Rome for Niall’s annulment. We both know
the reason the MacWilliam seeks me for his son is not my bonnie
blue eyes or my pretty tits. He looks to our ships, but they are not
mine to give. They belong to my half-brothers, and I will not cheat
my father’s sons out of their inheritance even to gain my own hap-
piness. I offer that wicked old man a bigger dowry than any of his
’better-bred’ wenches, and I also offer him something even better
than money, for I am a proven breeder of sons! Tempt him with
that! For all his cleverness he has but one heir. I will give him half
a dozen more.”

The bishop laughed. “You’re a very naughty wench, Niece. Your
attitude toward the holy sacrament of matrimony is really quite
shocking. I am tempted to pile you with penances.”

“I will accept them gladly, Uncle, if Niall Burke truly loves me.”
She became deadly serious now. “This is what I must know. The
last time he accepted his father’s will too easily, and did not fight
for me. Now he must battle the MacWilliam to prove his love.”

“And if the MacWilliam refuses your terms?”

“He won’t. But if he did then Niall would wed with me anyway
if he really loves me.”

“Very well, Skye. ‘Twill be your way.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” she replied meekly with downcast eyes, and
he chuckled and fondly whacked her backside.

The MacWilliam angrily roared his outrage, but Seamus O’Malley
stood firm. Even after Skye wed with Lord Burke she was to remain
the O’Malley, and she was to retain complete control of O’Malley
affairs.

“The O’Briens have a fine lass ripe for marriage,” said the
MacWilliam slyly.

“The devil take her,” shouted Niall, and the bishop masked his
smile. “ Tis Skye I want, and Skye I’ll have even if I must slit your
scrawny throat!”

The MacWilliam looked at his son with an injured air. “If you’re
that hot for her then you might as well have her. I hope you’ll
quickly breed me several grandsons before much more time has
passed. I am not growing any younger.”

Seamus O’Malley returned to his niece, happy to tell her that her
terms had been accepted, and that Niall Burke had been willing to
fight for her. The O’Malleys were in a state of great excitement
because one of their own was to wed with Niall Burke. Yet Skye
remained calm throughout.

“You must be made of ice,” remarked her sister Peigi. “He’s what
you’ve always wanted. And God knows his reputation with women would set an ordinary woman to fainting. You’ve already had a taste
of his lovemaking, so surely you must be excited to finally be
marrying him.”

“I am, but we’re not wed yet, Peigi. I am fearful of rejoicing too
soon lest I awaken to find it all nought but a dream. If I remain quiet
and unobtrusive I will not attract the undue attention of those spirits
who might envy me my good fortune.”

“God ha’ mercy, little sister, what unchristian nonsense is this?
Thank the Lord you do not run our business so foolishly.”

Skye shook her head, but said nothing further. She knew that
even here in the heart of devout Christian Ireland, food and drink
were placed upon the doorsteps nightly in offering to the little people.
She knew that certain maidens of unblemished virtue were marked
as sacred, and the keeping of their virginity placed in the care of an
ancient Celtic demon who materialized to destroy the violator if the
girl’s innocence was threatened. She and the men of her fleet made
verbal obeisance to Mannanan MacLir, the ancient Irish sea god,
before each voyage.

It had been almost eighteen months since she had seen Niall, and
she was somewhat frightened, for in all that time she had been free
of men’s demands. Her aversion to being touched had eased some-
what, and Mag could again bathe and dress her.

As if sensing her fears from afar, Niall Burke came unannounced
to Innisfana Island. He found her in her mother’s rose garden clipping
some late blooms. For a few minutes he stood in the shadow of a
tree and watched her. He realized he had never seen her in a moment
of leisure. She was dressed in the Irish fashion, wearing a bright red
skirt of soft, lightweight wool. She had tucked it up, and he saw
that she was bare-legged and barefoot. Her blouse was of fine linen,
as white as many washings could make it. The sleeves were short,
and it was deep-necked, revealing her breasts when she bent to inhale
the sweet fragrances of the flowers. Her blue-black hair was loose
and billowed softly about her shoulders in the light breeze. She
carried a wide, nearly flat straw basket, half-filled with roses. Her
giant hound, Inis, walked slowly by her side.

She was lovelier than he had remembered, and his heart beat a
little quicker when he realized that this beautiful woman had con-
sented to be his wife. The young innocent of fifteen was long gone.
He barely remembered her now, as this lovely creature of nineteen
quickened his blood. He let his eyes feast on her, enjoying the soft
pink in her cheeks, the way her lashes made a dark smudge against
her skin. Her slim figure moved with such grace. It gave him pleasure
just to watch her.

After a little longer, he stepped from behind the tree and the big hound stiffened, his hackles rising. Inis growled low in warning.

“I am glad to see you so well guarded, Skye.”

“Put your hand out, Niall, so Inis may get your scent.” She patted
the dog. “Friend, Inis. Niall is a friend.”

Lord Burke suffered himself to be thoroughly sniffed. He patted
the animal, speaking reassuringly to him, receiving first a long
searching look from the liquid amber eyes, and then finally a wet,
cold nose pushed into his palm.

“He likes you!”

“And if he hadn’t?”

“You might have had difficulty claiming your rights once we’re
wed, my lord,” she said mischievously.

She sobered suddenly, and he did too. Then he held out his arms
to her and, without a moment’s hesitation, she walked into them.
His arms closed securely about her, and she stood quietly listening
to the rapid beat of his heart just beneath her cheek.

“I love you, lass,” he said quietly.

“And I love you, my lord Burke. I would seal that love with a
kiss,” she said softly, raising her head. His mouth gently found hers.
At the first touch of his lips she panicked, but his big hand caressed
her hair and he murmured against her mouth, “No, love, it’s Niall,
and I love you.” With a sigh she gave herself up to him, and when
he released her at last, her eyes were shining with joy.

“Is it all right now, sweetheart?” he asked, already knowing the
answer.

“Yes, my lord. For a moment… but it quickly passed.”

“I will always be gentle with you, Skye.”

“I know.” She smiled happily. “How long were you watching
me?”

“A few minutes. You’re a charming sight barefoot, and clipping
roses.”

“But hardly dignified,” she blushed. “As the O’Malley, I should
have sailed out to meet you, my betrothed husband.”

“Leave the O’Malley at sea, my love. I prefer shoeless lasses,
especially the one now in my arms. Besides, you did not know I
was coming. And but a day behind me is himself, anxious that your
uncle perform the betrothal ceremony here in two days’ time, and
that we sign the contracts. Would that please you, pet?”

“Oh, Niall! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“And then,” he continued, “we can be wed in three weeks’ time
after the banns are all read.”

“Yes!” Then her face fell. “No. It cannot be in three weeks’ time.
Damn! I must go to Algiers, and we sail in a week.”

*To Algiers? Why?”

“It has been suggested that we set up a trading post in Algiers,
and I cannot give my approval unless I have investigated the situation
myself. I must not waste O’Malley gold, or O’Malley resources.”

“Why must you leave next week? Can’t you go another time?”
She could hear the irritation in his voice.

“Oh, Niall, I am sorry. In order to gain a trading license in Algiers
we must have permission from the Dey, who represents the Sublime
Porte in Constantinople. Without the Dey’s approval we cannot trade
safely in the Mediterranean.”

“Why not simply bribe him?”

Skye laughed. “We are going to, but the Turks do things differ-
ently than we do. We are rather straightforward, whereas they de-
mand grace and elegance, even in their business dealings. When the
Dey learned that the head of the O’Malley company was a woman
he demanded to meet me. My representatives dared not refuse him.
So I must go or else risk insulting the Dey. To insult the Dey is to
insult the Sultan. In that case we would not get the trading permit.
Worse, our ships would be marked as fair game by the Barbary
pirates who sail out of Algiers under the Dey’s supervision. We
would be ruined. I have to go. The appointment is set.”

“How long?”

“At least three months.”

“Three months? Dammit, Skye, it’s too long to be separated from
you!”

Her eyes lit up. “Come with me, Niall! Sail with me to Algiers!
I know we must allow our families the privilege of marrying us off
with pomp and fuss. But once we’re betrothed and pledged to wed,
no one will think to mind if you accompany me. We can have our
church wedding when we get home. Come with me, my love! Oh,
please come with me!”

It was a wild, impractical idea, and he almost said no. Then he
thought of the long days and longer nights ahead. Niall Burke took
a deep breath and said, “Yes, Skye, my love. I’ll sail with you,
though I must be mad to do so.”

With a cry of joy she flung herself into his arms.

Several days later, in the same chapel that had seen Skye’s baptism
and ill-fated marriage to Dom O’Flaherty, her betrothal to Niall
Burke was celebrated. She regretted the absence of her father at the
moment of her greatest happiness, but the MacWilliam’s open joy
eased her sorrow.

The ceremony was barely over when Skye left her husband-to-be
and their guests in the care of her sisters, so that she could oversee
the preparation of her ships. They would sail in a fleet of nine ships.
Skye’s flagship was the Faoileag (the Seagull). With her would be her father’s ship the Righ A’Mhara (King of the Sea); Anne’s ship
the Ban-righ A’Ceo (Queen of the Mist), which had been a wedding
gift from her late husband; and the six ships belonging to Skye and
her sisters. These were known as the six Daughters for each was
named a “Daughter of…” They were Inghean A-Sian (Daughter
of the Storm); Inghean A’Ceo (Daughter of the Mist); Inghean
A’Mhara (Daughter of the Sea); Inghean A’Ear (Daughter of the
East); Inghean A’lar (Daughter of the West); and the Inghean A’Ay
(Daughter of the Island).

Each ship was carefully prepared and provisioned, and the crews
were handpicked by Skye. She wished to make a good impression
on the Dey. Permission to trade with Algiers meant untold wealth.

Thus it was that, one week from the day of his betrothal, Niall
Burke found himself standing on the quarterdeck of a ship as it sailed
south out of O’Malley Bay into the rolling blue Atlantic Ocean. He
was not a sailor by nature, and had no special feeling for the sea.
Nevertheless the weather was tolerable and he quickly found his sea
legs. What he could not find as easily was an end to his amazement-
for Skye O’Malley in command on the sea was completely different
from the woman he knew and loved.

She was amazingly competent, highly knowledgeable in areas of
which he had little or no understanding. The men about her did her
bidding unquestioningly, and listened to her with open respect. Had
she not been his sweet Skye in the privacy of her cabin, Niall would
have been genuinely frightened of the Amazon who commanded this
small fleet. Fortunately, Niall Burke had a sense of humor, and he
quickly realized he was going to need it.

Though he shared the captain’s quarters with her, he slept alone
in a single bunk in a small side cabin with the wolfhound Inis as his
companion. The great dog had attached himself to Niall with a
singular devotion that delighted Skye, for Inis had hated Dom. Lord
Burke amused himself by training the dog. It was intelligent, but
lacked manners. Niall also spent a good deal of time in the company
of the same Captain MacGuire who had returned him to the
MacWilliam several years back.

It was MacGuire who began to teach Niall the rudiments of sea-
manship, for as he succinctly put it, “The O’Malleys are all half
fish, and if you’re to wed one, you’d best understand why they love
the sea even if you don’t.” Niall Burke listened, learned, and began
to have great admiration for those who made the sea their life.

He spent the evenings with Skye, though she would not share her
bed with him. “I am not a passenger on this voyage,” she told him.
”If I were needed in the night, and we…” Her blue eyes twinkled,
and he laughed in spite of his disappointment. To reward his patience she flung herself into his arms and kissed him ardently, her soft
breasts pressing provocatively against his pounding heart, her little
tongue darting teasingly about his mouth. Niall pushed her back,
and kicking her legs from beneath her, they fell to the big captain’s
bed. Skye felt her shirt buttons opening as if by magic, and his
mouth burned into the soft flesh of her breasts, nuzzling against a
suddenly hard nipple, sucking until the throb between her legs was
almost unbearable.

Then he lifted his head, and his silvery eyes stared down at her
with tolerant amusement. “You’re captain of this ship, Skye, but I
will, if you don’t mind, be captain in our bedchamber. If you tease
me like that again, I’ll have you on your back before you can say
’Sail ho!’ Do you understand me, sweetheart?” “Aye, Captain,” she answered, and he was flattered to see the
admiration in her eyes.

The weather remained miraculously fair as the Seagull and her
sister ships sailed farther south, avoiding the treacherous Bay of
Biscay entirely by the simple maneuver of keeping far enough out
to sea. They now sailed shoreward, rounding Cape St. Vincent,
ploughing across the Gulf of Cadiz, and through the Straits of Gi-
braltar into the Mediterranean.

They were but a few days out of Algiers when a freak storm
struck the O’Malley fleet, scattering it haphazardly. The wind and
waves were tremendous. The heavy rains soaked into the decks and
through into the below-decks area. Just when they thought them-
selves safe, the storm having died, the boom of a cannon brought
them face to face with Barbary pirates.

The pendant sent them by the Dey to insure their safe journey
had been ripped away in the storm, and they were under attack by
two ships. There was no choice but to fight. Skye’s men were
delighted. Laughingly they broke out the weapons and turned with
relish to meet the enemy. The grappling hooks flew, and the Seagull
found herself pinioned against a pirate ship. Below decks, her gun
crews worked frantically to sink the fast-closing second ship while,
above deck, Skye, sword in hand, led her men in defense of her
ship.

Horrified, admiring her courage but scared to death for her, Lord
Burke grabbed his own sword, but MacGuire held him back. “She’s
doing fine, laddie. Stay with me. You go to her now, and she’ll be
more concerned for your safety than for her ship’s. She doesn’t need
you. If she does we’ll go, but for now we’ll just defend this area
from the mangy infidels.” And clay pipe still clenched between his
teeth, he leaped forward to engage a burly, bearded, turbaned ruffian
who was attempting to gain the quarterdeck. Knowing MacGuire was right, Niall joined in the fight to keep the quarterdeck free.

The Seagull’s gun crew succeeded in sinking the second enemy
ship, and a great shout of triumph went up from the O’Malley men.
With renewed vigor they began to force the invaders from their decks
and off their ship. The grappling hooks were disengaged and, slowly,
a border of water began to appear between the two ships. The pirates
fled back to their own vessel.

What happened next was never quite clear in the minds of the
sailors who lived through it. A freak wave-a remnant of the recent
storm-hit the ship sharply, broadside, and Niall Burke found him-
self pitched overboard into the sea. He heard Skye scream his name,
and then Inis hit the water near him and swam to his side. He could
see a boat being quickly lowered, and he knew it would be only a
matter of minutes before he and the dog were safely back aboard
the Seagull.

On the ship above, Skye raved in a manner previously unknown
to her crew. “Jesu! Jesu! You idiots, hurry! Lower the boat before
he drowns! If either he or the dog is drowned I’ll keelhaul the lot
of you all the way back to Ireland!”

The boat hit the water and was swiftly rowed toward Lord Burke
and Inis, both of whom were treading water. Skye leaned from the
quarterdeck, frantically directing the rescue. In the foaming sea
Niall’s dark head bobbed next to Inis’ silvery black one. Intent on
the rescue, they all forgot about the pirates. The pirate captain and
his crew had been staring, amazed, and now the captain nodded to
one of his seaman.

The pirate was swung swiftly across the gap between the two
ships. Grasping Skye firmly about the waist, the man lifted her from
the deck of the Seagull, and the two of them swung back to the
pirate ship.

She turned on him with a shriek of fury, nails clawing, but her
captor laughed, his teeth white against his tanned face and black
beard. As she struggled with the man, she heard her own crew
shouting, but the pirates were now breaking out muskets and shooting
down into the water in an attempt to hinder the rescue of Lord Burke.
The rescue boat finally reached Niall, and he and the dog were
hauled into it.

“Thank God,” sobbed Skye. She heard Niall call her name and,
taking her captor unawares for a moment, she fought free and
shrieked, “Niall! Niall!”

He stood up in the boat and shouted desperately, “We’re coming,
beloved! We’re coming to get you!”

There was a sharp crack of a musket, and a bright blossom of
scarlet burst from Lord Burke’s chest. Skye stared in horror, then screamed endlessly as she watched him fall into the little boat. “I’ve
killed him! Oh, sweet Christ! I’ve killed him!” And with a moan
of anguish she slid down into the darkness that rose to free her of
her pain.