Skye O'Malley (44 page)

“I will choose nothing!” she said stubbornly.

“Then I will, my dear. Come along now, lass.” He took her hand and walked her upstairs to her apartment. “Daisy, girl, to me,” he called, and the buxom maid appeared.

“Sir?”

“Your mistress is to be wed at one tomorrow to the Earl of Lynmouth. What in her wardrobe is suitable for a wedding gown?”

Daisy’s brown eyes grew round with awe and delight. “Oh, sir! Oh, ma’am! How wonderful!”

Skye turned away sulkily and stamped into her bedchamber, where she threw herself on the bed. Daisy looked questioningly at Robert Small.

“Don’t fret, girl,” the captain reassured her. “Your mistress is simply in a mood. Let’s have a look at her wardrobe.”

Daisy led the way to Skye’s dressing room. Robert Small’s mouth fell open. “Sweet Jesus!” he exclaimed, “I’ve never seen so many fine feathers in my entire life.”

Daisy giggled. “These are only the ones suitable for a wedding, sir. The simpler things are hung in another room.”

Robert Small shook his head, then began to study the gowns. White was ruled out, for Skye was a widow. And somehow a bright color seemed inappropriate. Then his eye was caught by a rich, heavy, candlelight-colored satin. “Let’s see that one.”

Daisy drew the gown forth and held it out for his inspection. The simple bodice was cut low and embroidered in seed pearls. The puffed sleeves, which ended just below the elbow, were slashed and the openings filled in with a fine cream-colored lace. Below the elbow the sleeves hugged the arm in alternating bands of satin and lace. The wrists were ruffled by a wide band of lace. The underskirt was embroidered with delicate seed pearls and tiny diamond flowers. The dress had a small, starched, heart-shaped lace collar edged in tiny diamonds that rose up behind the neck. The underskirt was a graceful bell shape.

“Aye, Daisy, my girl! This will more than do! See it’s pressed and ready by ten in the morning. Your mistress is being married in the Queen’s own chapel at Greenwich, and the Queen is giving the bridal feast afterward. They’ll also be spending the night there.”

“Oh … sweet Mary, sir! Will I be allowed to go? My mistress will be needing me, I’m sure.”

“Aye, girl, you’ll go.”

The little maid nearly swooned in her ecstasy. “Lord, sir! Wait till me old mother hears that I’m maid to the Countess of Lynmouth! She’ll be so proud! Oh, sir! You don’t think Mistress Skye
will want someone else, do you? I’m nothing but a simple Devon girl.”

“Your mistress will want you, Daisy, never fear. See to the dress now, and have a scented bath ready for your lady at dawn. Wash her hair, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Gathering up the beautiful gown, Daisy left Robert alone. He walked back to the bedroom.

“Are you finished sulking, lass?” he asked.

“I never sulk!” she snapped, sitting up. “I simply dislike having my life settled for me by other people. Do I have no choice in this?!”

“No, lass, not this time. You’re angry with Southwood, and so you seek to spite him by making his son a bastard. Yes, I do believe it’s a boy you carry. But the Earl has suffered enough, being caught in a loveless marriage, having his heir die. Without even knowing that his potent seed has already taken root in your fertile womb, he offers you marriage. It’s hardly an insult, my dear.”

“And what of my wealth? Is it to be poured into the Lynmouth coffers along with that of his first two wives? No! No! I won’t be left helpless and dependent like poor Mary!”

Robert Small smiled a slow smile. “So that’s what’s bothering you, lass.”

“Part of it,” she admitted.

“Don’t fret, Skye lass, I’m not about to leave you helpless. The Earl directed me to have a marriage contract drawn up tonight, which he’ll sign in the morning. You’ll have to give him a good dowry, Skye, but the bulk of your wealth will remain in your hands. This house will remain in your hands, and I’ve made you my heiress, providing that if anything happens to me you’ll care for Cecily. That way you’ll have plenty for Willow.”

“Robbie! Oh, Robbie!” she began to weep softly.

Embarrassed, he clumsily put his arms about her. “Give over, lass,” he muttered gruffly. “For pity’s sake don’t cry all over me. I like it better when you scream. Who else could I leave Wren Court to, Skye? You’re the daughter I never had, lass, and you’re as dear to me as if you were my own.”

“Thank you, Robbie. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” She wiped her eyes and Robbie tried to muffle a sniff.

“Now listen to me, Skye. We’re giving Southwood twenty-five thousand gold crowns for dowry, and of course you come with your clothing, plate, and jewelry. All the rest of your wealth, the money Khalid left, the shares in our partnership, this house, and
Wren Court remain exclusively yours. He can’t take them, so you are free and independent.”

“Will he sign such a contract, Robbie?”

“He’ll sign, lass. The Queen would have his head if he refused, for Young Bess is very much her own woman, like you.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s very late, Skye, well past midnight. Rest now, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”

“Which gown did you choose, Robbie?”

“The creamy satin with the pearl and diamond embroidery,” he answered, smiling.

“It’s the one I’d choose, were I interested in this marriage.”

He chuckled. “Sleep well, Mistress Goya del Fuentes. Tomorrow night you’ll be Lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. Not bad for such an ugly wench.” He ducked the pillow she threw at him as he strode from the room, laughing merrily.

CHAPTER 17

S
KYE’S WEDDING MORNING WAS A RAINY SPRING DAY
. S
HE
stretched in a leisurely fashion, dimly aware of activity about her, then suddenly sat straight up in bed. She was being married in a few hours, and there was so much to be done! A steaming tub was already waiting before the fireplace.

“Good morning, m’lady,” chorused Daisy and the two undermaids, bobbing curtseys.

“Not ‘my lady’ yet, Daisy,” said Skye sharply. The two maidservants giggled, then gasped, their faces reddening as Skye rose from her bed, drew off her gown, and walked naked across the room. Daisy, who was used to her mistress’s eccentricities with regard to nudity in the bath, smirked smugly at the red-faced underlings and helped Skye up the two steps and into the big tub.

Skye sunk gratefully into the bath. The sweet-smelling oily water caressed her skin and lapped about her shoulders. Daisy drew a screen about the tub, leaving her mistress to a few moments of privacy, while she guided the undermaids in the laying out of the bride’s clothing.

So
, thought Skye,
today is my wedding day. How different it is from the joyous day that I wed you, Khalid. Oh, my dearest lord, how I loved you. But you are gone, Khalid, and this strange English lord has caught at my heart. I may be wealthy, dear Khalid, but the honest truth is that the widow of an Algerian “merchant” is scarcely on a social footing with a belted Earl. Yet, he would make me his Countess. It’s not simply to get me in his bed, for I have already been there. He claims to love me, yet he left me without a word for weeks. Dare I trust him? Or will he break my heart? Oh, God, I wish I could know. I want to be loved, but even more I want to be safe again
.

“Mistress,” scolded Daisy, “you’ve not yet begun to wash.” Daisy took up the soft cloth herself and began to scrub her mistress. Skye continued to muse silently as Daisy moved on to wash her mistress’s hair. Daisy’s chatter caused Skye to lose her train of thought and she exploded. Relenting at the hurt look on Daisy’s face, Skye confided, “I’ve wakened with a terrible headache, Daisy, and I don’t want it later on at Greenwich.”

Daisy became concerned. “Ah, m’lady, I’ll have an herbal draught made up at once. Hawise,” she turned to one of the serving maids, “ask Dame Cecily to please make up an herbal tea for m’lady’s headache.”

Skye left her tub wrapped in a large warmed bathsheet and, seated by the fire, endured Daisy’s further ministrations. Her hair was rubbed free of excess water, brushed and brushed and brushed again until it was dry, then rubbed with a piece of silk until it shone with deep blue-gold lights. Meanwhile, the second of the undermaids knelt paring her mistress’s toenails.

“What I really need is something to eat,” declared Skye. “Bring me bread, meat, and wine. I’m starving. See to it, Daisy. Jane, either the Earl will like my feet or he won’t.” She stood up and the bathsheet dropped. Daisy wrapped her mistress in a loose pink silk robe, then hurried off to see to the food. Picking up her pedicure equipment, Jane departed as well. Skye sighed with open relief. It was so lovely to be alone. But the sound of chuckling spun her around.

“Geoffrey!”

“Good morrow, wife.” He stood before the tapestry that hid the secret passage door.

“Not quite yet, my lord,” she answered sharply. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to be reminded what a magnificent creature you are, madam,” he drawled lazily, his green eyes sweeping boldly over her.

A flush stained her entire body, and she shook her cloud of hair. Did he really love her, or was it only lust to possess her? She determined to try and find out now. He could cry off when she had finished, but that was better than being owned by a man who had
no real feelings for her. Walking deliberately to the door, she locked it and then said firmly, “Sit down, my lord. Will you take some wine?” He nodded, and she poured him a small goblet from her sideboard supply.

“Well, madam,” he demanded after accepting the goblet and leaning back. “What is it?”

She drew a deep breath. “How brave you are to wed with me, my lord, but are you sure you really want to take to wife the widow of one of the most notorious men in the history of Algiers? I remind you that I recall nothing whatever prior to my life with Khalid el Bey. He made me what I am. God only knows what tainted blood flows in my veins. My mother might have been mad and my father a murderer. Think carefully, my lord. Is this the sort of woman you would take to wife?”

“Why, Skye,” he drawled, “are you trying to discourage me?” She shook her head. He continued. “Did Khalid el Bey teach you to read and write?”

“No,” she answered. “I already knew.”

“What else did you know, my love?”

“Different languages, mathematics,” she said slowly. “The knowledge was just there … though I don’t remember acquiring it.”

“You’ve hardly a peasant’s look,” he observed, “and you’ve been damnably well educated for a man, astoundingly for a woman. From the moment we first met I knew that we should be more to each other than simply friends.

“I wanted to know more about you and I inquired of a sea captain of my acquaintance, one who knew Robert Small and of his association with Khalid el Bey. The captain left Algiers several days after you and Small did. The story of your flight from the Turk was on every tongue in the city, particularly because your loss was said to have rendered the unfortunate man impotent.”

Skye choked back her laughter with the confirmation of her revenge on Jamil. But she didn’t know whether to be angry at Geoffrey Southwood for this invasion of her privacy, or flattered that he had been so deeply interested in her. She was, above all, pleased to know that Geoffrey wanted her even though he knew of her past.

“You’ve signed the marriage contract?” she asked him coolly.

“Aye. Your dowry is most generous, my love. With your permission I shall put it in trust for our first son. I don’t need it,” he countered. It was her move.

One winged dark eyebrow raised slightly. “You read the contract, didn’t you? My wealth remains mine.”

“Of course, my dear. I will dower any children we have. I know you’ll want to provide for Willow. But if you had not a pennypiece, Skye, I’d have gladly dowered your daughter.”

“Yet, it was said that you refused to dower your own.”

“They were Mary’s brats,” he replied bitterly. “Little brown wrens like their mother, obviously capable of bearing only daughters. The three who survived the pox, however, seem to have something of me in them. They’ll be good company for Willow, and since I can see from the mutinous expression in your eyes that you’ll give me trouble unless I dower my daughters, I promise to do so.”

“I shall be a good mother to your children, Geoffrey.”

“I know that, Skye.” He rose and moved toward her, the longing in his eyes almost too painful to behold, but she held him at arm’s length.

“Not yet, Geoffrey. Please, not yet.”

“You have not forgiven me then.” It was a statement.

“I can understand your not writing to me from Devon. It must have been terrible for you there. Yet when you returned you sent no word, and I had to learn from de Grenville of your misfortunes. And he said the Queen was arranging a match for you with an heiress. What was I to think?”

“You might have trusted me, Skye.”

“How could you expect my trust after I learned of the infamous wager that you made with Dickon?”

“Damn, Skye. I never meant to collect from him! Surely you see that the wager happened before you and I truly met.”

“Your reputation preceded you, my lord, Geoffrey Southwood, the Angel Earl, the great cocksman, and breaker of hearts.”

“Enough, dammit. Woman, you argue with too much logic. I love you, Skye. I will always love you. In a few short hours we are to be wed. Let us forget what is past and begin afresh. We are well matched, madam.” He held out his hand to her then. Slowly, after a long, agonized wait, she took it.

“One question,” he said, “and I shall never ask this question again. Did you love him?”

“Yes,” she replied gravely. “I loved him. I awoke from some unremembered horror to find safety with him. He gave me a name, an identity, a reason for living. He was my husband, he was my lover, he was my best friend. I will never forget him.” She continued after
a silence. “I find it strange to say this, but though Khalid el Bey will always hold a claim on a part of my heart, I love you also, Geoffrey. Why else would I have been so angry and so hurt?”

The lime-green eyes regarded her now with hope as well as longing. “Then I am forgiven, Skye?”