Skye O'Malley (4 page)

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 concentrate 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 he 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 breath.

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
swordsman and an excellent falconer. He swam as though born 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 tremble. 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 her 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 remembered 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

D
UBHDARA
O’M
ALLEY STOOD LOOKING DOWN AT HIS SLEEPING
daughter. 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 that 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 then 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 promised—”

“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 shoulders. 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 postponed 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 ceremony 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 black 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.