Skye O'Malley (26 page)

“Then you think the Conde will give his consent, Ana?”

A crafty look came into the woman’s eyes. “He will at first refuse you, for he has never forgiven my
niña
’s birth. If, however, you tell him that you have dishonored his daughter then he will quickly consent, for he fears scandal more than anything else.”

“In that case, Ana, I shall speak to him at once,” smiled Niall.

“He is in his library now, my lord.”

Niall bent down and brushed Constanza’s lips. “For luck, Constanzita,” he said, and was gone.

“Aiiieee, my
niña!
You have at last found a man, and what a man! He will keep your belly filled for years to come. It is what I have prayed for,
niña
. Someone to take you from the Conde, and his bitterness. Now you will have a good life, a normal life.” She hugged the girl hard. Then, catching herself, she gasped, “In my happiness I have forgotten you, my Constanza. You are all right? He was gentle?”

“He was gentle, nurse, but I am sore and could use a bath.”

“At once,
niña!
At once!”

And while Constanza bathed herself in a warm, scented tub, Niall Burke sprawled his long frame in a rather uncomfortable chair in the Conde’s library. In his big hand he twirled the stem of a small wine glass. The Conde stared coldly at his guest.

“You are vastly improved in health, Lord Burke.” It was more a statement than a question. “I expect you will soon leave us.”

Niall nodded. “Soon, my lord, and when I go there is something I would take with me from Mallorca.”

“A souvenir of sorts, Lord Burke?”

Niall could not resist a chuckle. “Of sorts,” he said. “I wish to marry Constanza. I am formally applying to you for her hand.”

The Conde’s facial expression never wavered. “It is impossible, Lord Burke.”

“She is previously contracted?”

“No.”

“She is ill with some fatal sickness?”

“No.”

“Then why do you refuse me? I am the only son and heir of a wealthy and noble man. In my country, my lineage is equal to your own. You would have grandchildren. And, as my wife, your daughter would lack for nothing.”

“I do not have to explain myself to you, Lord Burke. I am Constanza’s father, and I have refused your suit. My word is all that counts.”

Niall drew a deep breath. “Is the reason for your refusal the fact that you doubt your daughter’s paternity?”

Francisco Cuidadela grew white. “You are impertinent, Lord Burke. Leave me! I do not choose to discuss it.”

Niall’s silvery eyes narrowed. “Let me tell you how I spent my afternoon, Conde. I spent it enjoying your daughter’s favors. She gave herself to me quite willingly, and I am pleased to say that she was a virgin. At this very moment my seed could be rooting in her fertile womb. You deliberately destroyed her chances of marriage here on Mallorca. Now not even a convent will have her. How will you face your friends when she grows big with my child? You are the last of your line, Conde, and your late wife’s family is also long gone. There is no place you can send Constanza to hide her shame. Already I hear the laughter of your friends. And if King Philip should hear of this scandal you might find yourself rapidly replaced as governor here.

“On the other hand, if you accept my suit you will be envied your cleverness for catching such a fine prize as myself. But, of course, the decision is yours.”

Francisco Cuidadela had gone from white to red and back to white again as Niall talked. Now the Conde made a strangled sound.

“Does that mean you accept, my lord?” asked Niall politely.

The older man nodded weakly, and Niall smiled, satisfied. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we shall see the bishop and arrange for the first of the banns to be posted. Have your secretary bring me a copy of the marriage contract in the morning. I trust that Constanza’s dowry will be quite ample, as she is your only child. Not that I care,” he said, “but my father will expect it.”

The Conde sent him a black look. Chuckling softly, Niall left the library. It was done. Once again he was betrothed, and he hoped that, this time, the union would produce children.

Constanza was not Skye, nor would she ever take Skye’s place in his heart. He laughed ruefully. He had never loved anyone but
Skye. Why had fate been so cruel as to separate them just when they were so near to marriage? “Skye,” he whispered her name softly. “Skye O’Malley, my love.” He tasted the words on his tongue. No, she couldn’t be dead! Would not her spirit have come to him, and wouldn’t he have felt it if she were? Must he accept that she was dead when he truly could not believe it was so?

No, he would never love Constanza as he had loved Skye, but Constanza was sweet and good and deserved his full attention. She would have it too, he vowed; but when he closed his eyes to conjure up her oval face with its violet eyes and halo of golden curls he instead saw a cloud of black hair framing a heart-shaped face with laughing blue eyes and a soft red mouth.

“Dammit, Skye O’Malley,” he swore. “I cannot help it that I am alive, and you are … are … Leave me in peace, my darling, to find some kind of happiness!”

He found Constanza and announced, “Your father has consented to our marriage, lovey. Tomorrow we shall have the bishop read the first banns at mass, and the contracts shall be signed.”

“I cannot believe it,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “How did you convince him?”

“I told him how we spent the afternoon,” said Niall drily.

Constanza swayed. “Oh! He will beat me!”

Seeing her white face left no doubt in his mind that she did not exaggerate. “Has he beaten you before, lovey?”

“Of course. He is my papa. He is never an easy man, Niall, but knowing that I gave myself to you willingly will infuriate him. I am truly afraid.”

“Don’t be frightened, Constanzita. I will not allow anyone, even your father, to harm you.”

With a contented sigh she nestled into his arms, and he felt better than he had in a long time. She loved him, she needed him, and it would be good between them.

The marriage contracts were signed the following morning and the first banns were read at the Palma cathedral’s noon mass. By nightfall felicitations were pouring into the governor’s villa from all the best families on the island. The Conde was particularly pleased when one of his friends who had spent time in London and Dublin congratulated him on obtaining such a fine catch for Constanza.

“Lord Burke’s father is quite wealthy, my dear Francisco, and dotes on his only son as you have doted on Constanza. What a fine match! But then, you were always a shrewd devil, eh?” The two
men chuckled conspiratorially, and the Conde began to feel that perhaps he had the upper hand after all. This tempered his unfriendly feelings toward Niall.

The banns were read twice again within the month and then on a bright winter’s morning several days after the Twelfth Night feast had ended, Constanza Maria Theresa Floreal Alcudia Cuidadela was joined in holy matrimony to Lord Niall Sean Burke. The bishop of Mallorca performed the ceremony.

The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, making beautiful wavy patterns on the pale-gray stone floors. The bride was preceded by six little girls in pale-pink silk dresses over miniature farthingales with short puffed sleeves, wreaths of rosebuds in their unbound hair. The children carried gilt baskets of flower petals which they strewed about lavishly.

Constanza clung to her father’s arm, a vision so exquisitely ethereal that an audible sigh rose collectively from the guests. Her gown was a heavy white silk brocade overskirt on a cloth-of-silver underskirt. The upper sleeves of the gown were large puffs of white brocade, slashed to show the silver interior. The sleeves were edged in lace just below the elbow. The lower sleeves were thin white silk that clung tightly to the arm and ended in cuffs of lace. The white brocade bodice was tight, and began just above the swell of the bride’s ample bosom. Modesty was preserved by a transparent silk chiffon insert that had a dainty, virginal, round lace collar.

Constanza’s golden hair was unbound and topped by a wreath of white rosebuds attached by small pearl pins to a sheer cloud of lace that floated about her. In one hand she carried a bouquet of gardenias and about her slender neck was a single strand of pearls.

The groom, awaiting her at the altar, was equally elegant. His silk hose were red-and-gold-striped, his upper legs covered by puffed and slashed breeches of claret-red velvet. His short, high-collared doublet was of matching silk and open at the front to show an embroidered white silk undershirt ruffled at the wrists. Covering his doublet was an embroidered overjerkin of claret-red velvet, studded with freshwater pearls and gold beads. His rakish velvet cap was tilted to show its heavily jeweled underside, and a pink plume drooped from it. His shoes, tanned from the hide of an unborn calf, were gilded a pale gold.

Sword and dagger were
de rigueur
, and both of Niall’s blades were of the finest Toledo steel. The hilts, however, were gold, and heavily jeweled in diamonds and rubies. Encircling his neck and spilling down onto his chest was a heavy gold chain with a large
gold, diamond, and ruby medallion depicting a raised winged griffon.

The women eyed his broad chest and well-turned legs and sighed behind their fans. How on earth, they wondered, did that meek little milksop catch such a man? It was said that the couple would remain on Mallorca for several months before journeying to London and the court of the young new English queen, Elizabeth. Perhaps in that time they might have the opportunity to offer their charms to the handsome Lord Burke? They would show him what an error it was to wed in haste.

The ceremony ended, and with the bishop’s permission Niall tenderly brushed the lips of his bride. Her shining eyes and sweet blush told him how happy she was. Smiling, he tucked her small hand in his arm and swept her down the aisle of the cathedral, back across the square, and into the governor’s villa. Soon they were greeting their guests.

The Conde had spared no expense in the preparation of his only child’s bridal feast. The tables groaned with sides of beef, whole young roasted lambs and kids, larded ducks, whole swans in aspic, lemoned and gingered capons. There were pigeon and lark pies with their flaky crusts steaming, and huge bowls of paella, red lobster bits and green olives showing brilliantly against the saffroned yellow rice. There were platters of boiled shrimp in white wine and herbs, a tub of raw oysters, platters of new green scallions, and tiny red love apples. Great loaves of white bread, both lean and long and fat and round, had been placed at intervals down the board. One whole table had been set aside for sweets. There were plates of molded jellies in red, green, and gold, dishes of sugared almonds, cakes, marzipan fruit tarts, and silver bowls of black raisins, purple figs, green and white grapes, and Seville oranges. Deep-red and golden wines and heady beer flowed from the villa fountains.

The musicians played lively tunes as they moved among the guests. At the head table Niall and Constanza sat in the place of honor receiving congratulations. Neither missed the admiring looks cast the groom’s way by many of the ladies, and the bride’s purple-pansy eyes darkened jealously.

“You look like an outraged kitten,” he observed in an amused tone.

“I was thinking,” she replied, “that the marquesa, for all her low décolletage and painted face, is at least ten years your senior.”

Niall gave a whoop of laughter and kissed her soundly. “Oh,
niña
, what a sharp little tongue you have.” Then his eyes caressed
her, and he said, “Soon I shall teach you to use that naughty tongue in a sweeter pursuit,” and Constanza felt a strong warmth sweep over her. Since that afternoon in the meadow he had not known her intimately. His behavior had been that of any proper gentleman with his betrothed. It had made her a little afraid, especially after her monthly show of blood had arrived on time. Perhaps he regretted his proposal but was too well mannered to withdraw it? Now, however, his eyes told her that she had been foolish to be afraid. As the relief flooded through her she felt quite giddy.

The afternoon lengthened and became evening. Finally Ana was at her elbow, whispering, and Constanza rose discreetly and left the courtyard. “Come in an hour, my lord,” said the servant woman softly, and Niall acknowledged the message with a faint nod. Shortly afterward the Conde slipped into the seat nearest him.

“I did not mention it before, but Constanza’s maternal grandmother was English. Part of her dowry was a house on the Strand in London. It is not large, nor elegant, but it has been kept in good repair. It came to me through Constanza’s mother, and I have made it a part of your wife’s dowry. My London agent has already informed the tenants that they must leave. The house will be staffed and ready for you when you reach London.”

“My thanks, Don Francisco. The Burkes have long considered the value of a London house, and the Strand is an excellent location.” He glanced about the festive courtyard. “My gratitude also for this day. It has made Constanza so happy.”

“She is my daughter, Don Niall. Oh, I know that old gypsy witch, Ana, has convinced Constanza that I doubt her paternity and believe she killed her mother, but it is not so. Constanza was born with a heart-shaped mole on her right buttock. I have the identical mole, as do my brother, Jamie, our father, and our late grandfather. So did my two sisters. Any doubts I might have entertained were eradicated the moment I first saw my daughter.

“As to Constanza’s mother, Maria Theresa was as frail as she was proud. The agony of being held all those weeks in the licentious clutches of the Moors shamed her as greatly as it shamed me. She died because she could not bear to be whispered about for the rest of her life. How could a simple peasant like Ana understand something like that?”

He sighed. “Be good to my Constanza, Don Niall. She is so much like her mother. When you take her away, it will be like losing Maria Theresa again.” He then rose quickly, and joined a group of his friends on the other side of the courtyard.