Skye O'Malley (15 page)

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 MacWilliam 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
I
never hurt you. Remember how it was with us? It was sweetness beyond measure. 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, warming 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 eventually. 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
D
OM DIED
. H
IS 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 monastery 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 working 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.
“I 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 happiness. 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 somewhat, 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.