Skye O'Malley (68 page)

“In the spring I must begin another voyage, lass. I would feel happier knowing I leave you safely wed. Besides protection, you need a husband to take your mind from schemes such as last summer’s piracy.”

“You knew?”

“It had your fine touch, lass. And when Jean rendered me the year-end accounts, I showed no losses even for our two ships that were pirated.”

“I would hardly rob you, my business partner,” she said indignantly.

He chuckled. “What did you do with the rest of the cargoes?”

“They were sold and the money was dispersed among the poor and the churches.”

“It was a good jest on Bess Tudor, Skye, but no more. You were lucky not to be caught. Next time, you could be. I want you to promise me you will not go pirating again.”

“No, Robbie, I’ve not finished with the Queen yet. Besides, I’ve Adam to protect me.”

Adam de Marisco shifted uncomfortably. “You’ll have your new husband to protect you, little girl,” he said as Robbie and Dame Cecily nodded mutual approval.

Skye threw up her hands in mock exasperation. She understood how right they were. “Very well then, you can write to my wily uncle, and I’ll send my own note with yours.”

Their two letters were enough to rouse Seamus O’Malley, the Bishop of Connaught, from an attack of winter doldrums. With the holidays over and Lent just ahead, he had been feeling depressed. Robert Small’s letter instantly ended his dark mood. Mounted upon a fine bay gelding, he hurried off to see the MacWilliam.

The overlord of Middle Connaught was delighted to hear that Skye O’Malley was again in need of a husband. Here was the answer to all his problems. This was the one woman Niall would marry happily, and he would finally see some grandsons!

“On the same terms as before?” he asked the bishop.

Seamus O’Malley looked pained. “My lord,” he said, “my niece is a very wealthy woman now in her own right. She is the widow of a belted Earl.”

“An Englishman!” was the scornful reply.

“But a titled one,” rejoined the bishop smoothly.

“She may be too old now to breed safely,” mused the MacWilliam slyly. “She’s at least five and twenty.”

“And at the peak of her fertility!” came back the quick reply.

The two men argued for some time. The minutes strung themselves into hours. Finally an agreement was reached and the bishop said, “I want a proxy marriage now, as soon as possible.”

“Why?” demanded the MacWilliam suspiciously.

“Because Skye is not overly enthusiastic about marrying. I’m afraid if we wait until after Easter she may change her mind. There’s no time to prepare a big wedding now, so if we don’t wed them by proxy now, we’ll have to wait until after Lent. D’you really want them to wait?”

“Jesus, no!” swore the MacWilliam. “There’s been enough waiting already between those two! Have your priests draw up the contracts as quickly as possible so they can be taken to England and signed.”

“They don’t have to go to England to be signed,” said Seamus O’Malley. “My niece has given me permission to act for her.” And then he thought,
God forgive me, for Skye will have murder in her heart when she learns what I’ve done
. Skye had indeed given him permission to act for her, and although she hadn’t spelled it out he knew that his aid was required only in the matter of seeking prospective bridegrooms. Skye would make the agreement all by herself. Still, he reasoned, he was the eldest O’Malley, and there wasn’t a court that wouldn’t uphold his right to make a final decision.

Three weeks later the walls of Lynmouth Castle echoed with the outraged shrieks of its chatelaine. The servants, who had never seen the beautiful Countess in such a fine tearing Irish temper, wondered whether they should flee. Daisy, in the very eye of the storm, sent a groom at top speed to Wren Court to fetch Robert Small. The little captain arrived and hurried up the stairs of the castle in the direction of the screams and breaking crockery.

Skye stood in the center of her antechamber, broken crystal and china about her. Her dark hair was loose and swirling and she wore only petticoats and a low-cut white blouse. At the sight of Robbie, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms. He held her and made soothing sounds until she finally quieted. Still holding her, he asked, “What is it, Skye lass? I can’t help you unless I know what is happening.”

“It’s all your fault, Robbie! All yours! You all had at me! All of you! You and Adam and Dame Cecily all insisting I must marry to protect myself. Now look what you’ve done!”

He thrust her from him. “What did we do?” he demanded.

“What did you do?” she cried, her voice beginning to rise again. “Let me tell you what you’ve done! That wicked devil who calls himself my uncle, that saintly man of the Church that you asked to help me seek a new husband, that bastard has already wed me by proxy. I’ll have it annulled! I’ll not be wed against my will!”

Robbie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was astounded by Seamus O’Malley’s actions and wondered why the man had acted in such haste. While Skye continued to pace and swear, Daisy caught his eye and held out a parchment to him. He took it and began to read, admiring as he did so, the cool way in which the elder O’Malley had taken complete advantage of his unsuspecting niece.

“I am glad,” wrote the bishop, “that you have come to your senses and decided to marry again. To this end I have matched you with Niall, Lord Burke. Your wedding was celebrated by proxy on February third of this year with myself standing in to represent you. You may expect Lord Burke to arrive in England shortly. I do not have to tell you that the MacWilliam is very pleased with this match, as am I.” The letter went on for several more sentences, ending with the bishop’s hope that the union would be fruitful. The marriage contracts were enclosed, and Robbie was pleased to see that Seamus O’Malley had seen that his niece’s wealth remained in her hands. Her uncle had done an excellent job.

Drawing a deep breath, Robbie said, “I cannot see why you’re so upset, Skye lass. You were to wed with Burke several years ago and you weren’t distressed by the idea then.”

“I was but a girl, Robbie, and I believed I loved him. When I regained my memory Niall was horrible to me. What happened to separate us was not my fault, yet he blamed me. He accused me of all sorts of terrible things. He is spoiled, and I hate him. I told my uncle several months ago that I’d not wed with Lord Burke.”

“If not Lord Burke, Skye, then who?”

“I don’t know, Robbie, but
anyone
would be better!”

“The marriage is valid, lass. There isn’t a court anywhere that would invalidate either the contracts or the proxy ceremony and there are no grounds for annulment. Whether you like it or not, you’re now Lady Burke.”

“Go to Hell!”

Robbie began to chuckle. “By God, I never thought to see you bested, but that sly old ecclesiastical fox has done it and done it well.”

Skye’s blue eyes began to narrow and grow smoky with anger. But Robbie was so tickled by the situation that he failed to note her growing rage. He prattled on. “At least he’s chosen you a
real
man. Lord Burke is similar in character to both Khalid and Lord Southwood. No, indeed, you can’t complain, Skye lass.” And his mouth fell open with shock as the crystal decanter shattered just above his head, spattering diamond shards of glass and ruby-red droplets of wine down the wall.

“This match has been made by my uncle, Lord Burke, and the MacWilliam with the sole purpose of breeding another generation. Well, without my cooperation they can’t get the new generation, can they?” she said softly, ominously. Then she continued, “Geoffrey has not been dead a year. I cannot possibly be a proper wife to Lord Burke while I am still in deep mourning. And then, of course, there is my semi-mourning for another year. As you are certainly aware, Robbie, propriety must be strictly observed.”

Robbie began to look worried. “You can’t mean you’re going to deny him his rights?”

She laughed, a harsh sound. “His rights? What rights?”

Robbie felt a sinking sensation. “He’s your husband,” he said weakly.

“I
didn’t pick him. It was all your idea, and de Marisco’s and my uncle’s and the MacWilliam’s. All I asked was the right to chose, for I am the one involved. I am entirely capable of planning my own destiny. Instead, I have been married off without even the courtesy of a single discussion. Well, Robbie, if I must live with the consequences, then so must you all—including Niall Burke.”

Robbie’s sinking feeling deepened. What had they done? Not just to her, but to Niall Burke as well? He did not regret his advice. Marriage had been the only solution. But the Bishop of Connaught had acted high-handedly. Robbie suddenly realized that he knew her better even than her own family did. Well, why not? When Skye had left them she was still a girl, her character just beginning to form. They still thought of her as a young girl. Those two sly old men hadn’t stopped to realize that a cleric and a provincial nobleman could scarcely conceive of the kind of life Skye had led in the last several years. What could they know of men like Khalid el Bey? He sighed. God, how much simpler it would have been if Khalid had lived. Skye would have had a dozen of his children and grown pleasingly plump on Turkish pastries. Then he chuckled at himself for being a fool. She simply wasn’t that kind of woman.

“You cannot hold Lord Burke responsible for this situation.
Though I am sure the idea of finally being wed to you has him ecstatic.”

“He of all people should have known better than to wed with me without my personal consent.”

“Perhaps your uncle convinced him that he had it.”

In actuality Niall Burke had been astounded when, arriving home from a hunting trip, he had found Seamus O’Malley and his father sitting together getting companionably drunk.

“Behold! The bridegroom cometh,” chuckled the bishop.

Niall Burke felt his anger rise. “I warned you,” he snarled at his father, “I warned you to make no matches for me!”

The old man snickered. “You are being married February third, my son.”

“The hell I am!” was the outraged reply.

“My niece will be so disappointed,” the bishop cackled, and the MacWilliam joined in his laughter, the two old men doubling up like fools.

Niall wondered if the smoky peat whiskey they were drinking had been tainted. His bewilderment caused the two to laugh harder, tears running from their rheumy eyes and down the worn old faces. Finally the bishop wheezed, “My niece, Skye, has given me her permission to arrange another marriage for her, now that Lord Southwood is dead. Your father and I have decided that since you were once intended to wed, you should do so now.”

“And Skye is coming to Ireland to wed me?” Niall was incredulous.

“No. We’re celebrating the marriage by proxy on February third. You are to go to England, for she’ll not come to Ireland and rob her little son, the Earl, of his rightful inheritance.”

“What’s the hurry?” Niall was suspicious, knowing these two old schemers for what they were.

“Lent, my lad. You know we cannot celebrate a marriage in that solemn season. D’you truly want to wait till after Easter to wed and bed Skye? After all these years?”

“Very well then,” said Niall. “I agree.”

“He agrees!” wheezed the MacWilliam with helpless mirth.

“Praise be to God!” cackled the bishop, gasping for air. Niall Burke thought them both drunk, or mad, or possibly both.

The contracts were signed the following day, and all Niall could think about from that point on was that Skye would soon be his. How sweetly modest she still was, even after all this time. What an adorable creature to have her uncle arrange the match instead of
making the contracts herself. After all, she was hardly a maiden and not likely to be shy of him. His mind was so full of memories of Skye that the woman he had known so unhappily in England faded and the girl he had known so long ago took her place.

Consequently he was unprepared for the cold woman who greeted him at Lynmouth Castle. It was but a few weeks after their marriage, when the winter weather had cleared. He had left the MacWilliam’s stronghold to travel across Ireland and take an O’Malley ship from the east coast town of Cobh to Bideford. In Bideford he repeated what he had done several years prior, and hired a horse for the ride to Lynmouth. He came alone, unheralded, without an escort. Riding across the lowered drawbridge into the courtyard, he said to the servant who ran out to greet him, “Tell the Countess that her husband has arrived.” The servant’s mouth dropped open, then he turned and ran.

Niall Burke calmly stripped off his riding gloves and strode into the castle. As he entered the hall, Skye came toward him. She was dressed totally in black. She was cool and elegant and very formal. “You should have told us you were coming, my lord. Have my servants seen to your retainers?”

“I have none. I came as soon as the weather cleared. There was no time to send word ahead.”

“We’ll have rooms readied for you, my lord.” He looked puzzled and she explained, “My husband is not dead a full year, my lord. I am still in mourning.”

“I am your husband, Skye.”

She smiled frostily. “My late husband,” she amended in a tone meant to convey how crassly he was behaving.

“Then why did you marry now, Skye?”

“My uncle had my permission to seek possible
candidates
for a marriage for me and nothing more. Instead he arranged this proxy marriage. I did not even know of the wedding until two days ago.”

“You didn’t want to marry me?”

“It is of little importance to me whom I wed, though I should have preferred having a choice. You see, Lord Burke, it was necessary that I take a husband.” She told him about Dudley and her need to protect both herself and her children.

Her words stunned him, and as their import sunk in he was torn between anger, pity, and laughter. In his eagerness to regain her, he had accepted a simple explanation for a situation that he ought to have known was not simple. From her icy demeanor, he decided that the MacWilliam would have a long wait for a grandchild.
Oh, he could shout and bluster about his marital rights, but he suspected that would gain him only scorn. He decided that he would play the gentleman and wait. A rueful smile touched the corners of his mouth, for it seemed he was forever waiting for Skye O’Malley.