Skye O'Malley (80 page)

Laughing, Skye slipped a gown about herself, and opening the door took Deirdre from her sister. “Have Daisy arrange my bath, Eibhlin, if you please,” she said. “If I’m going to spend the next several days traveling, I am going to start out clean.”

Eibhlin smiled back. “You’re radiant, little sister,” she said, and was gone.

Skye walked back to the bed and lay Deirdre upon it. Fascinated, Niall leaned over and gazed down at his daughter, who puckered up her little face and began to howl. “Good God, what have I done?” He drew back, terrified.

Skye snatched the baby up and put her to the breast. Deirdre’s small hands kneaded her, and though she watched her anxious father with suspicious blue eyes, she suckled noisily without interruption. “It occurs to me that she has never seen a man up close,” said Skye. “She was frightened. In a few days she’ll be very used to
you, my love.” Satisfied, Niall watched with pleasure as his wife fed their child. Afterward they spent a few minutes playing with Deirdre. After tasting her father’s fingers, the baby consented to hold on to them while her father pulled her back and forth. It was a game she particularly enjoyed, and she began to look at Niall with less suspicion.

When the maids arrived with Skye’s tub, Deirdre was sent off with her aunt to be prepared for the long journey home. Niall retreated to the room next door, dressed in his traveling clothes, and then checked the coach while Skye finished dressing.

The Lynmouth traveling coach had been secreted in Greenwood’s stables so that nobody would know the Burkes were staying there. The coachman and footmen had spent a happy few days in the company of Greenwood’s friendly maids. Now, under their master’s watchful eye, the coach was drawn from the stables and the six matched grays were harnessed to it. The luggage was packed in, and the water. Wine bottles were filled and secured. An open woven wicker basket was carefully fitted into an iron rack attached just three inches above the seat in the center. Lined in silk with a small down mattress, it would shortly hold Lady Deirdre Burke. Daisy would sit on one side of the basket and Deirdre’s doting aunt would sit on the other. Beneath the seat a kitchen maid stored two baskets packed with bread, cheese, hard-cooked eggs, ham, and fruit.

In the small family dining room of Greenwood, Robbie, Adam, Eibhlin, Skye, and Niall enjoyed a quick breakfast of ham and egg pudding, bread, and fruit. They had a hard day’s riding ahead of them. They were all eager to be on the road, away from the nightmare that London had become.

Daisy and the baby were already settled inside the coach when Eibhlin climbed in.

“Should we draw the curtains?” asked Daisy.

“Please don’t,” answered the nun. “All I’ve seen of London is a darkened river and the Tower. I’ve never been here before, and I don’t ever expect to come back. I would like to take a memory of this city back to Ireland with me.”

Niall helped his wife mount her horse. Sitting on the animal gave Skye a feeling of freedom that made her giddy. Mindful of the need for secrecy, she drew her hood about her face, noting that the coat of arms had been carefully removed from the coach doors.

The coach and the four horses with their riders moved through the streets, London’s morning sounds surrounding them.

“Milk! Who’ll buy my good, fresh milk?”

“Violets! Sweet violets!”

“Herring! Fresh-caught herring, ha-penny a pound!”

“Pots! Bring out your pots to mend!”

The solemn little party, well disguised, rode stolidly onward until they gained the high road. When they had traveled several miles outside the city, Skye threw back her hood with an exuberant gesture, and let her long, dark hair billow behind her. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were pink with excitement and with the joy of riding. At the top of a hill she stopped and gazed back at the city.

“How did you convince Cecil to free me?” she asked her three rescuers.

“You mean Niall didn’t tell you?” demanded Robbie.

“I imagine he’d other things on his mind,” murmured de Marisco.

“Well, how did you do it?” she repeated, and they told her.

“You mean you sacrificed your share of the
Santa Maria Madre de Cristos
for me, Adam? Your share was what you ‘found’ on board the
Gazelle?
” she asked when they had finished. “I’ll make it up to you! I swear it!”

“You’re free, Skye, and that’s all any of us cared about,” he protested, embarrassed.

“I included your emeralds, the ones you took for yourself. They were added to the
Gazelle
’s treasure,” said Niall calmly.

“You took
my
emeralds?”

They all waited for the explosion. But Skye began to laugh. “By God,” she said, “I’ve beaten Elizabeth Tudor well and true, and in a manner I never expected to.”

“What do you mean, Skye?” asked Robert Small.

“Why, Robbie, the Queen has gained nothing except some gold, and a few cold stones, but I have the true treasure. I have the three of you. Niall, my beloved husband, and my friend Adam, and my dearest Robbie. Until Bess Tudor has a husband and loyal friends like mine, she has nothing of value at all. I pity her.”

They stared wonderingly at her, realizing that Skye really did pity the Queen whom she had bested. The three men felt a burning sting behind their eyes, and each blinked rapidly, unashamed.

Skye gazed at each of them long and lovingly, and her smile was as bright as the morning. “Gentlemen! I’m for home!” she cried. And wheeling her horse about, Skye O’Malley galloped off in the late-April sunshine, and down the road to Devon.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I
N
1979,
WITH THREE BOOKS PUBLISHED OR ABOUT TO BE PUBLISHED
, two of them fictionalized histories of real women, I decided to write a novel based on Grace O’Malley, the renowned pirate queen of Connaught. However, the more I researched, the more I discovered that Grace—while heroic in nature—was actually considered rude, crude, and generally lacking in the more genteel characteristics of a historical romance heroine. Of course the histories of that time were written mostly by churchmen, or by men educated by the church. A strong, independent woman like Grace would hardly be approved of. Still there just wasn’t quite enough to Grace for me to write an entire novel about her. She left Ireland only once, when she had a sea battle with Barbary pirates in the Bay of Biscay, off of Portugal.

At first I was disappointed because the particular era in which Grace lived was extremely rich with exciting history. But I wasn’t ready to give up on it, so Grace’s fictional “cousin,” Skye O’Malley, came into being. Skye was not a woman to hang about, merely trolling off the coast of Ireland for prizes. She traveled far and wide, including to exotic north Africa, and later came into contact with England’s queen, the great Elizabeth Tudor, through Skye’s third husband, Geoffrey Southwood, the earl of Lynmouth, who was known as the “angel earl” because he was so handsome.

Due to her steely nature and magnificent cunning, Elizabeth I is frankly one of my favorite historical characters. I love writing about her. A child when her mother was beheaded, Elizabeth was sent away from her father in both disgrace and disfavor, while a host of enemies conspired against her. Nevertheless, the savvy and determined young woman survived to become England’s queen and, in my story, to meet Skye O’Malley.

In my imaginings, Elizabeth and Skye become worthy opponents. At first admiring and respectful of each other, these two friends transform into impassioned enemies. The two strong and fascinating women have many a battle in this novel: though they shared some basic characteristics, they were fundamentally very different. Skye’s passions were for her family, who were all very close and loving, and her power came from the wealth she built through her shipping empire—which in turn allowed her to spar with England’s queen. Elizabeth’s power, however, came from her sovereignty. I remain utterly intrigued by the court of Elizabeth, especially by Lord Burghley, who was so very clever and masterful at leading his royal mistress away from her destructive emotions, and by Robert Dudley, who was in my opinion a proper villain with kingly ambitions of his own.

Like most historians, I have put my own particular spin on the time period. The places and the people in this book are based upon my own thorough research, and my hope was to breathe life into this fascinating era. So thank you for your time, dear reader. I do hope you enjoyed Skye O’Malley’s story, and the glimpse into a time when pirates roamed the seas, magnificent and formidable royalty ruled the land, and passions (I am quite sure) ran high as some of the most powerful personalities in history collided.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

B
ERTRICE
S
MALL
is a
New York Times
bestselling author and the recipient of numerous awards, including the 2006 Career Achievement Award for Historical Romance from
Romantic Times Book Reviews
. In keeping with her profession, she lives in the oldest English-speaking town in the state of New York, founded in 1640. Her light-filled studio includes the paintings of her favorite cover artist, Elaine Duillo, and a large library. Because she believes in happy endings, Bertrice Small has been married to the same man, her hero, George, for forty-four years. They have a son, Thomas; a daughter-in-law, Megan; and four wonderful grandchildren. Longtime readers will be happy to know that Nicki the cockatiel flourishes, along with his fellow housemates: Pookie, the long-haired greige-and-white cat; Finnegan, the long-haired bad black kitty; and Sylvester, the black-and-white tuxedo who is the self-appointed bed cat.