The next morning Skye arose early to write to the Queen.
Madame, My brothers beg your indulgence for the overabundance of high spirits that caused them to foolishly join with our distant cousin, Grace O’Malley. I have suggested that a proper channel for my brothers’ exuberance would be to carry letters of marque from Your Gracious Majesty that would allow them to exercise their energies in foreign waters to both their own and Your Majesty’s great advantage. I will shortly be arriving in England with my youngest brother, Conn O’Malley, who will tender a request for Your Majesty’s favor on behalf of his brothers and himself. I remain as always Your Majesty’s friend. Skye, Lady de Marisco
Skye watched dispassionately as the thick green sealing wax dripped onto the folded letter, and she pressed the O’Malley ring of office into the hot puddle before it hardened. The letter was dispatched immediately aboard one of her ships, captained by Bran Kelly. She was relieved to have the letter off, and the matter settled. She walked back into the bedchamber, crawled back beneath the down coverlet, and sighed.
Adam reached out and pulled her into his embrace, his arm cradling her, settling her head against his shoulder. “What is it, little girl?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
“I find I’m losing my taste for adventure,” she said.
He understood her completely. “You’ve borne a heavy burden all alone, and for a very long time, Skye. ’Tis no wonder you’re weary, sweetheart, but will you not rely on me now? Let me shoulder some of the load, or at least help you with it.”
“Oh, Adam, how can I involve you in this? You’re English.”
“English, Irish,” he replied. “It matters not, Skye. You are a woman; I, a man. We love each other, and because we do one’s problems become the other’s. It’s really that simple. Your brothers’ nationality has nothing to do with their being pigheaded. I’ve known Frenchmen, and Devonmen, and other Englishmen just as stubborn. It’s simply their nature, and together you and I will overcome that nature. I am encouraged that Conn desires to see the Tudor court.”
“Let’s take him back to Lynmouth first,” she said. “We’ll have to clean him up, and get him outfitted, and teach him how to behave, for I’ll not have the court laughing at him. Like as not, Conn would kill half a dozen men should he feel insulted. I’m not introducing him into Elizabeth Tudor’s world to cause havoc and be sneered at as a typical Irisher. I want those letters of marque for the O’Malleys.”
“You’ll get them, Skye.”
“I wish I was as sure as you are, Adam.”
Adam chuckled. “If Conn is half the charmer I suspect he is, the Queen will melt. Besides, being a practical woman, she will be relieved to have the O’Malleys of Innisfana off harrying the Spanish instead of the English.”
Skye smiled to herself, realizing the simple truth of Adam’s words, and she snuggled harder against him. “Then I’ll not worry, my husband, and instead I shall concentrate on indulging my baser appetites,” she murmured, sliding her hand beneath his nightshirt. With teasing hands she fondled him, caressing and cupping him, and feeling him grow hard beneath her touch.
Adam lay very still, only the sudden quickening of his breath indication at first of her success. He loved the way she touched him with her hot and gentle little hands. In his lifetime he could not remember any woman rousing him as completely and as quickly as Skye could. When she moved herself down to take him in her mouth he groaned with unashamed pleasure at her actions, and fought to maintain his control, for now he desperately desired to possess and be possessed. “Ann, my Celtic witch, ride me!” he finally begged her, and Skye willingly obeyed her husband’s request, lifting her head from his manhood, kissing its throbbing scarlet head, and then mounting him to plunge downward so that he was enclosed by her eager sheath. Reaching up, Adam played gently with her beautiful breasts, tormenting the little nipples so that they thrust and quivered with his touch. Watching her through half-closed eyes, he was amused to find her own eyes closed.
Drawing her closer, he raised his head up and took one of those little peaks into his mouth. Balanced on one elbow, he cupped her breast in his other hand, loving it thoroughly as he did so. His tongue encircled the tautness, warm and so, so soft against her hardness. He sucked and nibbled on her flesh, and Skye gasped with pleasure as small darts of liquid fire raced through her veins, leaving her weak. With a smile of triumph Adam rolled her onto her back, and began thrusting into her honeyed warmth. Skye’s nails dug fiercely into his muscled shoulders, but her rounded hips began to thrust back at him. He pushed deeper and deeper into her until she thought he could go no further, but the next thrust penetrated deeper still as she threw her legs up and wrapped them around him. Now her nails raked down his back, scoring the smooth skin with fine crimson lines. Skye felt she was soaring; soaring higher than she had ever gone before. She felt helpless beneath his strength, and yet she felt stronger than she ever had.
The first wave of passion washed wildly over her, and Adam slowed his movement despite her whimpered protest. He laughed softly, a deep and sensuous sound. “Oh no, little girl, not quite yet. You’re a hungry wench, I can see, but I’m of a mind to play with you a bit longer. What you started, sweetheart, I shall finish.” All the while he spoke he moved slowly upon her. Again he increased the tempo of his erotic rhythm until she was sobbing with pleasure.
The whirling world was filled with a golden light that pulsed and throbbed all about her. His possession filled her with unbelievable peace amidst the turbulence of their passion. He gave so much, and Skye wanted to give back, but the second wave overtook her, and then in quick bursts the third and forth waves overcame her, rendering her almost unconscious, and she cried out. To her surprise, he cried out also, and then she felt his seed filling her full, and his head dropped to her breasts. She could barely catch her breath, but she kissed his head and caressed the back of his neck soothingly. He rolled away from her, and they lay side by side until at last the storm had passed and they drifted into a contented sleep.
When they awoke the morning was well along, and Skye scrambled guiltily from the warmth of their bed. “God’s nightshirt!” she swore. “My family will think me a slugabed. ’Tis past nine, I’m certain, and I had planned to visit my Uncle Seamus today. Where in Hell is Daisy with my bath water?” She flung open the bedchamber door and peered into the dayroom.
“So, ye’re up!” Daisy looked somewhat askance at her mistress, and Skye realized she was nude.
“Where’s my bath?” she demanded with an effort at nonchalance.
“If I’d fetched it earlier,” Daisy replied tartly, “ ’twould be ice cold at this moment. I’ll see to it now, m’lady,” and she bustled out of the room.
“You’ve the prettiest bottom I’ve ever seen,” Adam teased her.
Skye whirled about, laughing. “Oh, ’tis a bold one you are, my lord husband! It’s a good hour’s ride to my uncle’s house, and I did promise him I’d come whenever I arrived back on Innisfana. ’Tis certain he knows I’m here, and has, I’ve not a doubt, been waiting for me since dawn. He’s an old man, Adam, and frail. I would not disappoint him.”
“We’ll not disappoint him, little girl, and I intend to ride with you, for I’ve not met the good bishop. Does he hate the English, too?”
“I’m not sure it’s all the English, Adam. Just the ones who happen to gain his disfavor by not agreeing with him,” she chuckled, and Adam laughed.
“In other words,” he said, “a typical O’Malley.”
She launched herself at him, grabbing a large handful of his dark hair and yanking. “Beast! I can see I must teach you to be more respectful of the O’Malleys of Innisfana!”
He wrestled her to the mattress, and then across the bed as they playfully fought and struggled until both collapsed in a fit of laughter. Mischievously he spanked her bottom, eliciting a shriek of outrage from her. “ ’Twill teach you better manners toward your lord, wench!” he scolded with mock ferocity.
Adam grabbed Skye and drew her down into a passionate embrace. “My lady is a hot-blooded little bitch who arouses me beyond mortal comprehension,” he murmured softly as he began to nibble at her lips.
“Is this bath to get cold too, or will you wash?” came the scathing demand from Daisy.
Skye squirmed from her husband’s arms, but their eyes met in total understanding and love. “I’m coming,” she said to her tiring woman.
“So am I,” Adam said, beginning to rise from the bed. “Get thee hence, Daisy lass, unless you’re interested in my bottom and …” He waggled his eyebrows at her threateningly.
“Who’s to wash my lady?” Daisy demanded, outraged.
“I will,” came Adam’s reply.
“More than likely ye’ll end up back in that tumbled bed,” Daisy grumbled, “but who am I to say. Very well then, I’ll give you both fifteen minutes, and as fer being interested, m’lord, there’s nothing ye’ve got I ain’t seen before.” Then with her nose in the air Daisy flounced out.
Skye giggled at Adam’s look of outrage as much as Daisy’s tart comment. “Aye, Adam,” she further teased her husband, “Daisy’s a married woman now, and I’ve heard it said that Bran Kelly can hold his own with the best of them.” Then sticking out her tongue at her husband, Skye scampered from their bedchamber to the dayroom, where the tall oak tub had been placed before the fire. Wrinkling her nose with pleasure, she breathed in the rose bath oil already perfuming the room in the tendrils of steam that came from the hot water. Quickly she pinned her hair atop her head. Adam caught up with her as she was about to climb up the three wooden steps that led to the tub, and twirling her about, he kissed her.
“We’re never going to get bathed and off to my uncle’s,” she protested faintly against his mouth, thinking how good it felt to be enclosed in his arms.
“Yes, we will,” he said, and lifted her into the tub before climbing in to join her. “Good God! I’m going to smell like a damned garden, madam!”
“ ’Twas your idea to bathe with me,” she pointed out.
“Aye,” he grumbled, “but I can imagine what your brothers will think if they get a whiff of me.”
“Our delay in getting up, plus Daisy’s gossiping should reassure them on all counts,” Skye laughed. “Come now, m’lord, you promised to maid me.” She handed him her soap. “Wash my back!”
“Only if I can wash your front as well,” he countered.
“Adam!”
He turned her around and began soaping her long back. “You were more fun when you were my sometime mistress,” he teased, chuckling at her gasp of outrage. “Aye,” he murmured, kissing the tempting back of her neck, “being a wife has sobered you greatly, little girl.” He turned her around, kissed her on the nose, and, handing her the soap, said, “Now you wash my back, madam.”
“Only if I can wash the front, too,” she mocked him.
“If you dare, little girl,” he said.
“What will my uncle think of you, Adam de Marisco?” she lamented.
The old bishop of Mid-Connaught thought very well of his favorite niece’s new husband. They had never met face to face, but Seamus O’Malley felt he knew Adam de Marisco from all the things that Skye had said of him over the years; from his reputation as the lord of Lundy Isle; and from the letters they had exchanged, letters that usually had to do with Skye and her well-being. Seamus O’Malley knew that Adam loved his niece, and the old man understood that love was what she needed most of all. The love of a strong and good man; a man who would stand tall and prevent Skye from pursuing any future reckless course.
Seamus O’Malley was in his middle seventies, and he had not been a well man for two years now. Because of his destruction of Burke Castle there was a price on his head; a price no one had dared to collect yet. Still, the fact of it filled his life with a tension that had not been there before. In the last six months his health had deteriorated greatly, and he had not left Innisfana Island to care for the spiritual well-being of his people. He lived in a big stone house on the cliffs overlooking the sea, but despite his illnesses, he yet said the early mass in the nearby village church each morning.
It was midday when Skye and Adam arrived to see him. The door to the house was opened by Maeve, the wife of Connor FitzBurke, Niall Burke’s bastard brother. When they had been driven from Burke lands, the FitzBurkes had come with the elderly bishop, to care for him. The two women embraced warmly, and Maeve FitzBurke stepped back to hold Skye at arm’s length. She was a small, pretty woman with warm, brown eyes and reddish hair.
“How is it possible?” she said. “You’re as beautiful as ever! D’ye never age, Skye O’Malley?”
“Look closely, Maeve, and you’ll see the lines,” Skye laughed. Then she drew Adam forward. “This is my husband, Lord de Marisco, Maeve.”
Maeve smiled warmly. “I’d heard ye were a big man,” she said. “Come in then for he’s been waiting impatiently for ye to arrive since after mass.”
“Where is Connor?” Skye asked as they entered the house.
“Off seeing to the sheep and cattle that His Grace keeps these days,” was the reply as Maeve led them up a staircase. “Don’t be too shocked, Skye. Yer uncle is an old man, and it broke his heart when the English Queen took Burke Castle from little Lord Burke. He’s failed over the last few months, and he’s not strong. He feels the cold greatly this autumn, and I doubt he’ll live to see the spring.”
Skye felt unbidden tears pricking at her eyes, and she stopped a moment to regain her control. Maeve seemed to know, and paused before the paneled oak door, her hand upon the latch. “I’m all right now,” Skye said softly, and Adam reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
Maeve swung the door wide, saying as she entered the room, “Well, my lord Bishop, and here she is at last!”
The old gentleman in the plaid woolen shawl by the fireplace looked up, and Skye ran toward him to kneel at his side and kiss his gnarled hand with its heavy gold ring of office. “So, lass!” His body might be frail, but Seamus O’Malley’s voice was as strong as ever. “Get up, Skye, and let me look at ye! At least my eyes are still sharp. Ye’re as fair as ever, lass. I remember when ye were born, and Dubhdara was so disappointed ye weren’t a lad, but ye were a beauty even then and immediately stole his heart.” He paused a moment, “Even as ye stole mine, too.”
Skye bent and kissed him on the forehead. “Dearest Uncle,” she murmured.
“Now dammit, lass, don’t be going sentimental on me,” he grumbled. “Introduce me to this giant I suspect is yer husband.” He thrust his hand forward for Adam to kiss.
“Indeed, Uncle, this is Adam de Marisco, my husband,” Skye said.
As Adam made his obeisance to the bishop, Seamus O’Malley grinned, and said, “Aye, he’s just right for ye, Skye. Worships the ground ye walk on, I can see, and spoils ye shamelessly. Still I see enough strength in him that ye’d best beware of driving him too far lest he beat ye, as ye no doubt deserve on occasion. Sit down, nephew! Ye’re as tall as a tree, and I prefer to speak to ye face to face, not face to codpiece!” He cackled at his own wit, then commanded, “Maeve! Bring some whiskey, for I’m fair chilled. ’Tis a bitter day, a bitter day.”
They drew up chairs, and sat facing the old man. Almost at once he engaged Adam in a lively conversation. Skye was content to sit back watching the men she loved, and swirling the amber fire called whiskey around in her goblet. Her eyes devoured her uncle lovingly. He had grown old in the several years since she had seen him. His hair was now snow white, though once it had been as black as hers. His eyes, however, were still bright blue, and lively with interest in the world about him. He was thin, and his bony hands trembled with the effort of holding his glass. How he conducted the daily mass she did not understand, except that he obviously put all his strength into it and then spent the rest of his time resting from the effort.
/> “Skye?” His voice penetrated her thoughts.
“Aye, Uncle?”
“I’m sorry about Burke Castle. Will the Queen return Padraic’s lands?”
“Nay, Uncle. She gave him lands in England. She said he’d be raised as a good Englishman, and ’twould be one less Irish rebel for her to worry about.”
Seamus O’Malley nodded and smiled slightly. Although he saw the humor in it he also saw the wisdom in it. “Ye’ve few ties left in Ireland, lass.”
“I’m still the O’Malley, Uncle.”
“For how long, lass? ’Tis not fair ye retain the office now that Dubhdara’s sons are grown.”
“Grown into selfish fools, Uncle!” Skye snapped. “I’d be doing Da a disservice to make Brian the O’Malley right now. All he wants to do is pirate with our cousin Grace. He cares nothing about building our wealth. All he wants to do is waste it!”
“What will ye do then, lass?”
“I’ve suggested if he wants to go pirating with his brothers that they obtain letters of marque from the Queen, and pirate the Spanish Main rather than English shipping. That way, they can keep on the good side of the Queen without really serving her, and fill their own coffers with good gold at the same time. Brian agreed, and Conn is to come to England with me to speak with the Queen. If Brian and the others will keep out of trouble in the next year, I’ll turn over my badge of office to him, and consider my duty to the O’Malleys done.”
“ ’Tis fair,” the bishop agreed.
“I don’t want the power any longer, Uncle,” Skye said. “I’ve had it all my life, it seems, and I’m tired. My children have grown up barely knowing me, but I’ll not let my youngest, Velvet, be without me after this. I’ve a home in France, and the Queen has promised us estates to make up for Lundy.”
“The restlessness is gone then, lass?”
“Aye,” she said. “I seek peace now, Uncle, and I know that it lies with Adam and our daughter, and my other children.”
Seamus O’Malley nodded. “Yer father, God assoil him, was like that when he married Anne. He never wanted to go far after that. Ye’ve already found yer peace, Skye lass, and I’ll not tell ye to be a good and faithful wife to Adam, for I can see that ye already are. It makes me happy to see it, for if things are right with ye, then I can rest easy and face my brother with a clear conscience.”
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 71