Skye O'Malley (71 page)

So he had seen them! “Oh, I must tell Daisy to extinguish them,” she said, as if to herself. Then she turned and uttered a small white lie. “The lights are a prearranged signal to my ships on Lundy Isle. MacGuire is there.”

Comprehension dawned on Niall. MacGuire smoked a pipe! “Is that where you were the other night? On Lundy?”

“Yes.”

“Why the devil didn’t you tell me?” Good Lord! She’d been with MacGuire, and he’d acted the jealous fool! A lover!

“I didn’t like your manner of asking,” she answered loftily, knowing where his thoughts had led him, but unwilling to correct his mistaken impressions.

“Dammit, Skye. I’m always the fool where you’re concerned. Forgive me, my darling.”

With this apology she felt a rush of warmth toward him. She hadn’t actually lied to him when she told him that MacGuire was on Lundy. It was he who had assumed that she had spent her time with MacGuire. Her time with Adam de Marisco had been just as innocent, but that would be far too hard to explain. She wasn’t sure Niall would believe that she was simply friends with the lusty young giant. Better to leave things as they were.

“I forgive you, my lord,” she said sweetly. Standing and looking at him demurely, she said, “Shall we to bed, husband?” Then she walked slowly from the Hall.

He lingered for a few minutes, sitting on a bench before the fire, drinking a small goblet of white wine. She was an enigma. And he only now realized that she hadn’t told him why she was signaling her people on Lundy, or even what they were doing on the island. Well, he thought, I must learn to trust her. In time she’ll tell me. As for now, it would appear that I’m melting the ice.

When he reached his own bedchamber he found Mick waiting with his bath. Swiftly he washed, toweling himself vigorously dry, wrapping a robe about him. Then he entered Skye’s room. Two undermaids were removing Skye’s tub from the room.

“That will be all, Daisy.” She wore only a shawl.

The door closed after the tub and three servants. Niall stood, momentarily hesitant, unsure of what he should do. He feared to leap at her lest he had misread her signals.

Turning from the fire, she allowed the shawl to slide to the floor. She smiled as his silvery eyes warmed and grew wide with appreciation. Slowly she walked toward him, stopping before him to loosen the tie that held his dressing gown. One hand lay flat on his chest, the other slid beneath the fabric of his gown to move tantalizingly over his chest, teasing at his flat nipples, twining in the soft dark hair of his chest. Niall felt his breath catch in his throat. Her hand moved upward to caress his shoulder, and around to his back where her nails raked delicately downward, producing a shudder from him.

Her blue eyes held his captive, her mouth curved seductively in a little smile. Then her hands were opening his gown wide, pushing it off him, and she was pressing her own nude body against his. Her lips nibbled at his ear, her hands caressed his hard buttocks, and then he heard her murmur, “Love me, my lord husband!”

“Skye …” his voice was husky, he wasn’t sure he could move, and the ache in his groin was fierce.

“Come!” She took his hand and led him to her bed, gently pushing him back onto the fur coverlet. He felt like a child, not quite willing to believe the lovely gift being offered him, afraid to enjoy it lest it disappear. Amazed, he allowed her to caress and kiss him, and then she mounted him, kneeling to capture his manhood and imprison it between her breasts. He almost sobbed his pleasure when she took him firmly in one hand and rubbed the tip of his penis around the hard nipples of her breasts. Then, while he was recovering, she raised her body and plunged downward, burying him deep within her. He lay momentarily imprisoned between her silken thighs, and then, as if he’d received a signal, he grasped her buttocks and, with a swift move, turned her over so she lay beneath him.

“It’s better the stallion mount the mare than the mare the stallion,” he said, and then he was kissing her passionately. Her mind began to whirl. Once, so long ago that it seemed more a dream than a part of her life, he had taken her innocence. And now, just when she thought she would never do it, she had given herself to him
again. It was as glorious as she remembered, and she could not understand why she had denied him for so long.

“I love you, Skye,” he said when the storm was over and he held her close. “Perhaps someday I will regain your love again, but I thank you for now.”

“I will not deny you again, Niall. As for the other, we must begin anew, you and I. What was between us so long ago is unimportant compared with what may be between us now. You must accept in your heart that I have deeply loved two other men. You readily accept the fruits of these unions. Why not the fact of them? I have accepted that when you believed me dead you turned to poor Constanza. Now these others who invaded our lives for such a short but sweet time are gone, you and I are left alone together. We will go on from here and, God willing, I will love you again.”

It was enough. More, in fact, than he had dared hope for.

Holding her firmly, he fell asleep, content. For a while longer Skye lay awake in his gentle clasp. She had made her peace with him, and she was glad.

The other castle inhabitants soon realized that their Countess and her new husband had made their peace. It was going to be a beautiful summer. When the Queen sent a summons requesting the Burkes’ presence at Court, Niall sent back a charmingly worded message begging Her Majesty to allow them the summer to honeymoon in private. The Queen, in love with love, returned her royal consent.

May arrived, its festive first day a perfect, warm, breezeless one. The fruit trees were heavy with blossoms and the lilacs full and sweet. A maypole was set up on the village green and, to everybody’s delight, a troupe of morris dancers arrived with their musicians. Everyone from the castle and the village saw the afternoon performance. A raised dais was set up on the edge of the green and little Robert, the four-and-a-half-year-old Earl of Lynmouth, presided over the festivities under the guidance of his mother and stepfather. In attendance were Dame Cecily and Willow Small. Robbie had indeed formally adopted Willow besides making her his heiress. Robert Small had left on a long sea voyage and his sister had been feeling sad and alone.

The twelve dancers were dressed in greens, reds, yellows, blues, and purples, their costumes covered with gaily tinkling brass bells and silk ribbons of white, silver, and gold. There were five musicians, two with reed pipes, two with tabors, and one with a bagpipe. The dancers split into groups of three and began to caper about in
rhythm with the music. It was wonderful entertainment, and the eyes of the child Earl and his sister were huge with delight.

Skye’s two children were happier now than they had been since the tragic deaths of Geoffrey Southwood and baby John. The sporadic visits of Robin’s erstwhile guardian, Lord Dudley, had frightened them both. Although not old enough to understand what was happening between their mother and the arrogant nobleman, they had sensed that something was very wrong, and were frightened for both Skye and themselves. Now, however, everything was very happy, with Skye and Niall occasionally giggling like naughty children and spending a great deal of time in their bedchamber. Neither Willow nor Robin understood why their parents needed sleep so much.

The six-ship convoy that Skye had been expecting arrived on schedule, and was neatly pirated off Cape Clear by the O’Malley ships. The convoy’s arrival in Bideford with their holds picked clean was the talk of the countryside. Skye was hard put not to shout her triumph. She had known of the successful venture before word arrived from Bideford. A green beacon shining its light from de Marisco’s keep on Lundy had told her. Satisfied with her first success of the spring, Skye melted back into her husband’s arms and temporarily forgot the world.

CHAPTER 24

E
LIZABETH
T
UDOR WAS FRESH FROM THE HUNT
. D
AMP TENDRILS
of russet hair curled about the sides of her face and clung to the nape of her neck. Her black velvet riding habit was wet and stuck to her shoulder blades in dark patches. Her eyes were sharp and her cheeks flushed as she listened to Cecil’s report.

“The convoy,” he said, “was attacked off Cape Clear. Three of the ships were English, two French, and one Dutch. They were stripped completely. Both the French and Spanish ambassadors have registered strong complaints with me.”

“Why?” demanded Elizabeth. “Has it been proven that these pirates are English?”

“No, madam, it has not. They fly no flags whatsoever and their men are commanded by a series of hand and whistle signals. However, one of the French captains said that the lines of the marauding vessels are English and the three English captains agree.”

“God’s foot!” swore the Queen. “That Englishmen could attack the French and the Spanish-Dutch I fully comprehend. But that they could pirate their own countrymen is despicable. Tell me, Cecil, are these the same pirates who robbed us last summer?”

“It would appear so, Majesty.”

“I want them caught,” said the Queen flatly.

“Of course, my dear lady,” said the chancellor, smiling. “I have taken the liberty of formulating a modest plan, which I now present for your approval. King Philip of Spain, your late sister’s husband, has married the French Princess, Isabelle de Valois. He now presses the suit of his Hapsburg nephew, Charles, as a possible bridegroom for you. To this end, a Spanish treasure ship is coming from the New World, and will be offered to you in the name of the Archduke Charles.

“We will use this ship as bait. The supposed merchant vessels that accompany your treasure ship will actually be our own warships in disguise. Thinking to snatch an easy prize, these bold privateers will find themselves caught in our net. The Spanish have already agreed to this plan and will send one of their ships along with ours to meet the treasure ship and explain the plan to its captain.”

“How will the pirates know about the treasure ship, Cecil?”

“Word will be spread about on the London waterfront, in Plymouth, and in Bideford. That should be enough.”

“Do it then!” commanded the Queen. “I want these pirates stopped.” And then she departed the chancellor’s closet, leaving her chief advisor alone.

Cecil sat down heavily, his nimble mind mulling over a thought he had decided not to voice to his mistress quite yet. The lines of the ships might be English, but Cecil doubted that their crews were. The attack off Cape Clear had given him the idea, for Cape Clear was in Ireland. He would wager his personal fortune that the pirates were Irish. This line of thought had led him to another. He suspected that they were disposing of their stolen cargoes through Lundy Island, which was notorious for that kind of business. And Lundy was but eleven miles by water from Lynmouth Castle. The mistress of that castle was the Irish-born heiress of a great seafaring family. To boot, the lady had a grievance against the Queen.

Cecil might never have suspected the woman except for the memory of her face when she left the Queen many months ago. A beautiful face, an angry face, a proud face—as proud as Elizabeth Tudor herself. Cecil sighed. The one thing he’d never been able to
teach the Queen was not to use the people about her so ruthlessly. In that respect she was like her father, Henry Tudor.

He could not prove it yet, but he suspected that the lovely Countess of Lynmouth was cleverly revenging herself on the Queen by attacking one of her most important revenue sources. Cecil smiled to himself. The lady was a very worthy opponent, but the whole business ought not to have happened in the first place. Had the Queen remembered the loyal service of both the late Earl and his wife instead of sacrificing everything to her love for Dudley, none of this would have happened. Cecil did not like Robert Dudley. The man was a bad influence on Elizabeth, her one terrible weakness. She had come frighteningly close to marrying him, and Cecil still shivered at the memory, recalling the painful scene he had had with Elizabeth right after Amy Dudley’s death.

Elizabeth Tudor had been denied many things in her life, but she had salved her pride by reminding herself that one day … one day she would be Queen of England. And when she was, no one would ever deny her anything again. But insignificant little Amy Rosart had caused a scandal and her death had cost Elizabeth the only man she wanted. For that, a grateful Cecil prayed daily for Amy’s soul.

Unfortunately, the Queen would not let Dudley go. Keeping his foolish hopes alive by indulging him outrageously was the means through which she held on to him. The lovely Skye Southwood had been part of that indulgence, and now the Queen was paying for her unnecessary cruelty.

Privately Cecil sympathized. What Elizabeth had done to her had been outrageous. Nevertheless, he could not allow the lady to rebel against royal authority, even discreetly. It could set a dangerous precedent if it ever became public knowledge. Cecil intended keeping the affair a private one.

Several weeks later Skye paid a regular visit to Bideford to inspect her warehouses and learned of the Queen’s treasure ship. Hurrying back to Lynmouth, she set the signal lights ablaze in the west tower, and then fidgeted several hours waiting for de Marisco. Niall was off visiting the furthermost part of the estates and was not expected back that night. Matt, Wat’s younger brother, had taken over the care of Skye’s new boat and the responsibility of the cave. He ran upstairs to tell his mistress that the lord of Lundy awaited below.

Skye hurried down the interior staircase to greet Adam, a small pang of remembrance touching her as he swept her up and kissed
her soundly on both cheeks. “Little girl! You obviously took my advice, for you’re blooming!”

“I did indeed, Adam, and thank you. Now please put me down. I’m dizzy with the height.”

He regretfully complied. “Why the signal, Skye?”

“News! Marvelous news, de Marisco! In an effort to impress the Queen and turn her thoughts favorably toward the Archduke Charles, Spanish Philip has sent our Bess a treasure ship from the New World. It’s filled with Inca gold, Mexican silver, and emeralds from the Amazon mines. I’m going to take that ship! I’m going to pluck it from the sea and pick it clean!”