O’Malley had laughed and slapped her playfully on the backside. His daughters took this to mean that he was either in his dotage or growing mellow with age. Had their own mother ever made such a statement she would have been beaten black and blue. But then, Anne O’Malley was the mother of sons.
Moire looked up from her embroidery to gaze with pleasure about the hall. It had never looked so nice in their mother’s time for she, poor soul, had spent much of her life in her own rooms.
The stone floors were always well swept now, the rushes changed weekly. The oak trestles were polished to a mellow golden hue, reflecting the great silver candlesticks with their pure beeswax tapers. The big brass andirons were filled with enormous oak logs, ready to be lit when the evening arrived. Behind the high board, prominently displayed, hung a large new tapestry depicting Saint Brendan the Monk on a sky-blue background, guiding his ship across the western seas. Anne had designed it, and had been working on it almost every evening of her married life. It had been a labor of love, for the second Lady O’Malley adored not only her bluff, big husband, but their sons and their home as well.
Moire’s eyes lit upon several big colorful porcelain bowls filled with roses. Their pungent, spicy scent gave the room a wonderful exotic smell. Moire wrinkled her nose with pleasure and said to Anne, “The bowls are new?”
“Aye,” came the reply. “Your father brought them back from his last voyage. He is so good to me, Moire.”
“And why not?” demanded Moire. “You are good to him, Anne.”
“Where is Skye?” interrupted Peigi.
“Out riding with young Dom. I am surprised at your father in pursuing this betrothal. They do not suit at all.”
“They were promised in the cradle,” explained Moire. “It wasn’t easy for Da to find husbands for us all, for we’ve none of us large dowries. Skye’s marrying the heir to the Ballyhennessey O’Flahertys is the best match of us all.”
Anne shook her head. “I fear this match. Your sister is a very independent girl.”
“And it’s all Da’s fault for he has spoiled her terribly,” said Peigi. “She should have been married off two years ago at thirteen, like the rest of us. But no, Skye did not want it. He lets her have her way all the time!”
“That’s not so, Peigi,” Eibhlin chided her sister. “Anne is correct when she says that Skye and Dom do not suit. Skye is not like us in temperament. We favor our mother while she favors Da. Dom is simply neither strong enough nor sensitive enough to be Skye’s husband.”
“Hoity-toity, sister,” said Peigi sourly. “It amazes me how much the wee nun knows about human nature.”
“Indeed and I do,” replied Eibhlin calmly, “for whom do you think the poor women of my district pour out their unhappiness to, Peigi? Certainly not the priest! He tells them it is their Christian duty to be abused by their menfolk! And then he adds to their guilt by giving them a penance.”
The sisters look shocked, and Anne broke the tension by laughing, “You’re more a rebel than a holy woman, stepdaughter.”
Eibhlin sighed. “You speak the truth, Anne, and it troubles me greatly. But though I try I cannot seem to change.”
Anne O’Malley leaned over and fondly patted her stepdaughter on the hand. “Being a woman is never, ever easy,” she said wisely, “no matter what role we choose to play in life.”
The two young women smiled fondly at each other with complete understanding. Then everyone looked startled as they heard shouting in the entry hall below them. As the noise came toward them up the steps the O’Malley sisters glanced knowingly at each other. They recognized the voices of Dom O’Flaherty and their sister, Skye.
As the two burst into the main hall, Anne O’Malley was again struck by the beauty of the two young people. She had never seen two more physically perfect people, and perhaps this was why her husband insisted on the match. Anne shivered with apprehension.
Dom O’Flaherty threw his riding gloves on a table. At eighteen he was of medium height, slender, with beautifully shaped arms, hands, and legs. Having inherited his French grandmother’s coloring, he had glorious, close-cropped, curly golden hair, and sky-blue eyes. He affected a tailored short beard that hugged the perfectly sculpted sides of his face and ended in a softly rounded point. Because he was angry, however, his fair skin was now an unattractive, mottled red. His handsome face with its long, straight nose and narrow lips was contorted with rage.
“It’s indecent!” he shouted at Skye. “It’s indecent and immodest for a maiden to ride astride a beast! My God, Skye! That horse of yours! When we’re married I will see that you’re more suitably mounted upon a palfrey. What ever possessed your father to let you ride that big, black brute, I’ll never know!”
“You lost, Dom,” came the infuriatingly cool reply. “You lost the race to me, and as you always did when we were children, you try to retaliate by clouding the issue. Well, let me tell you what you can do with your bloody palfrey!”
“Skye!” Anne O’Malley’s voice was sharp with warning.
The girl looked to her stepmother, then laughed. “Oh, all right, Annie,” she acquiesced prettily, “I will try to behave myself. But, Dom O’Flaherty … hear me well. Finn is my horse. I have raised him from a colt, and I love him. If we’re to be happily married, you must accept that, for I have no intention of exchanging him for a rocking horse just to soothe your male pride.”
And while her bridegroom fumed, Skye signaled to a servant to bring some wine. As if in afterthought, she ordered some for Dom as well. Flinging himself into a chair, he glowered at her, but all the while his eyes roamed her body and he thought how beautiful she was in her dark-green silk riding habit. The skirt was divided, and the neckline open, plunging into the valley of her young breasts. Tiny beads of moisture had gathered on her chest and the sight excited him. He realized that he longed to possess this lovely young woman.
At fifteen Skye O’Malley was well on the way to fulfilling the promise of unequaled beauty that she had shown at birth. She stood every bit as tall as her betrothed. Like him, she was beautifully proportioned, with a slim waist that moved into softly rounded hips. Her breasts were small but full. She had a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were still the color of the seas off the Kerry coast, sometimes pure blue, sometimes dark, sometimes azure with a faint hint of green. They were fringed in thick ebony lashes that brushed tender pink cheeks. Her nose was slim, turning up just slightly at the tip. And if you looked carefully you could see a few soft, golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. The red mouth was surprisingly seductive with a full lower lip, and when she laughed she revealed small, perfect white teeth. Her skin was the color of cream and seemed even fairer by the contrasting mass of blue-black hair that tumbled about her shoulders.
She excited Dom very much, although he, it seemed, did not interest her. She far preferred galloping that great black stallion of hers at breakneck speed about the countryside, or sailing off with her father on some piratical adventure. The realization was quite a shock to his pride.
Dom O’Flaherty was not used to indifference from the fair sex. Women ordinarily made fools of themselves over him, and he was very proud of his sexual prowess.
Dom tried to console himself with the thought that once he bedded her she would soon be tamed. Hot-tempered virgins usually turned out to be passionate lovers. He licked his thin lips in anticipation, and quaffed his goblet of wine. He was not aware that his betrothed was eying him with disgust. Dom O’Flaherty would run to fat in his middle years, Skye decided.
Again from the entry below came the noises of arrival. Anne O’Malley rose to her feet with a smile. “Your father is back,” she said, “and it sounds like he brings guests.”
Two large wolfhounds, several setters, and a large terrier all bounded into the hall. One of the wolfhounds trotted up to Anne and dropped two small velvet bags at her feet. Bending, Lady O’Malley picked up the bags and, loosening the strings, poured the contents of one bag into her cupped
hand. She stared at the sapphire-and-diamond necklace that nestled in her palm. “Holy Mary!” she gasped.
Dubhdara O’Malley chuckled with pleasure from the doorway. “Then you like it, lovey? There’s earbobs, and a ring to match in the other.”
“Like it? Oh, Dubh, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned! Where …?”
“Portuguese galleon got itself blown off course and then wrecked aways up the coast. We were just in time to save the captain from the scavengers. He was most grateful.”
Anne said no more, but she read between the lines. It was obvious that her husband and his crew had battled coastal wreckers for possession of the damaged galleon. The O’Malleys had been pirates for centuries. It was their way of life. Undoubtedly the captain of the unfortunate ship and the survivors among his crew were now housed in the dungeons below, where they would spend the next several months awaiting ransom. Anne shuddered and reminded herself that such thoughts were not her concern.
“And where’s my wee lass?” demanded the O’Malley.
“Here, Da.” Skye rose from her chair and came forward.
Seeing her garb, he frowned with disapproval. “Still riding astride, poppet?”
“Don’t scold me, Da,” she wheedled him prettily. “It was you who taught me, and I simply can’t gallop Finn sitting sideways. It’s most unnatural.”
The O’Malley cocked an eyebrow. “Must you gallop him? Wouldn’t a nice trot do you? You must think of the babes you’re going to bear Dom now, poppet.”
She ignored his last remark. “Have you ever tried to trot with one leg slung over a pommel, Da? The last time I tried it I ended up with bruises all over my—”
“Skye! We’ve guests!”
For the first time her attention was drawn to the man by his side.
“My Lord,” she heard her father say, “this is my youngest daughter, Skye, who will shortly be the bride of young O’Flaherty. Skye, this is Niall, Lord Burke, the MacWilliam’s heir.”
“Niall an iarain, Niall of the Iron,” she said softly. This was a famous man, the secret dream lover of half the maidens in Ireland.
“I see my reputation precedes me, my lady Skye.”
“It is an open secret that you are Captain Revenge, and that you conduct those daring raids against the English who live in the Dublin Pale. Of course, no one would dare accuse you of this.”
“Yet you, my lady, do not fear me,” he murmured, holding her fast with his gaze until she blushed.
The voice was deep and sure, but as smooth as fine velvet. She shivered. She raised her eyes to his. They were a silvery gray, and she imagined that in anger they would be colder than the far northern sea, but in the heat of passion they would be fiery warm like rich wine. Guilty color flooded her cheeks at these immodest thoughts. The gray eyes twinkled infuriatingly, as if reading her mind.
He towered over her by a good eight inches. His smoothly shaven face had been tanned by the outdoors. The short-cropped hair was as midnight dark as her own.
Raising her hand, he kissed it. It was all she could do not to snatch it away, for his lips burned her flesh like a brand. Sweet Mary, she thought, he’s so much more sophisticated than Dom, yet he’s only ten years older than I am.
“My lord, welcome to Innisfana,” she murmured politely. Dear God! Was that husky, breathless voice hers? And why was Anne staring at her so strangely?
Her father’s voice brought her back to reality. “These are for your dowry, poppet,” he said, handing her a marvelous collection of rubies set in gold. They were a necklace, earrings, bracelets, a ring, and a hair ornament. Everyone exclaimed, and Dom O’Flaherty congratulated himself as though he had been personally responsible for choosing his bride.
Skye clutched the jewelry to her. Thanking her father, she left the hall. Damn! thought Anne O’Malley. She has been attracted to Lord Burke. And why not? Now why couldn’t Dubh have betrothed her to a strong, fierce man like Lord Burke instead of that vain boy, O’Flaherty?
Skye walked up the stairs to her chamber with what she hoped was great dignity. She was quite surprised that she could move at all, for her legs were shaking terribly. She was very confused, and not just a little frightened by her reaction to Lord Burke. She hoped she hadn’t behaved like a green maid, but never had she had this kind of a reaction to a man.
She had never seen Niall Burke before, though his romantic and military escapades were legend. As she had dared to say aloud minutes before, he was known to some as the famous Captain Revenge, who caused havoc for the English and their Irish allies whenever he felt that their policies were not serving Ireland.
Captain Revenge exacted a high penalty from English overlords who dealt unfairly with their native Irish underlings. Once, in an escapade later to have all of Ireland laughing up its sleeve, Captain Revenge had made love to the daughter of an important English nobleman who had estates in Ireland. Having learned the layout of her father’s castle from the love-besotted girl, Captain Revenge ransacked the castle’s treasure room and used the nobleman’s store to pay the taxes of several impoverished Irish families. The English accepted the money and rendered receipts. When the deception was uncovered, it was too late for anything to be done, and the English fumed with impotent rage. Certainly they suspected the connection between Captain Revenge and Niall, Lord Burke. But what could anyone do? London’s policy was that the overload of Mid-Connaught was not to be antagonized. He was, after all, an ally—an ally to the English being anybody not openly waging war against England. And too, they asked themselves, what possible real damage could one high-spirited young man do?
He was indeed a fascinating man, thought Skye, and when their eyes met there had been a moment of deep recognition.
Safe in her room, she watched as Molly, her maid, prepared her bath. Molly thought the lady Skye bathed too much, but Molly had to admit that her mistress smelled better than anyone she knew. She took the riding clothes from the girl and, brushing them, put them in the wardrobe. Skye divested herself of her undergarments, pinned her long hair up, and climbed into the tub.
The warm water felt good. Slowly Skye rubbed the cake of scented soap between her hands, then washed her face. Niall Burke. Niall Burke. Her mind repeated his name like a litany. He was so tall. He had made her feel petite, which she most certainly was not. He had been dressed in the English fashion, with elegant particolored hose and matching green pantaloons to the knee. She imagined the rippling muscles beneath the green velvet doublet. She suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be crushed against that broad chest, and to her shame the little nipples on her small breasts hardened, thrusting above the water.
What on earth was the matter with her? She had never had thoughts like these before. She knew so little about what went on between men and women, and Dom had certainly never inspired her. In fact, for all his good looks, Dom repelled her.
Molly took the soap from Skye, finished washing her, and dried her off with a linen towel. She had barely finished wrapping the girl in a silken chamber robe when a knock sounded on the door. Molly opened it, bobbed a flirtatious curtsey, and admitted Dom O’Flaherty.
He sauntered in with a lascivious look to his bride-to-be, whose young body was well outlined by the robe. “I have to leave you for a few days, Skye. Sir Murrough has sent word that I am needed. I will be back in time for our wedding.”
Skye’s heart soared. He would be gone, and Lord Burke would be here! “Go with God, Dom,” she said sweetly.
For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Dom reached out and pulled his betrothed into his arms. “No kiss, lovey? You would send me on my way without the least sign of affection?”
“We’re not wed yet, Dom. I don’t have to kiss you.”
“Don’t have to?” he exploded. “Christ, Skye, don’t be such a little prude! You’ll have to do more than kiss me in a few days’ time!” Damn, but she was a sweet armful, all perfumed and warm from the bath. He could feel his desire growing. He sought
for her mouth, but she squirmed away.
“No!”
His blue eyes narrowed in anger, but then he laughed. “All right, lovey. But in a short time I’ll have you begging for my kisses.” He mocked her a bow, then turned and left the room. She shuddered.
“Oh!” squealed Molly. “He’s a lusty one to be sure, mistress! You’ll have good bedsport with him, and that’s lucky in a husband!”
“Be quiet, you little fool!” snapped Skye. “Instead of drooling over my betrothed, fetch my new burgundy velvet gown. I intend on wearing it tonight with the rubies Da gave me.”
Molly scurried to obey. Skye O’Malley was a better mistress than most, rarely cruel, but not above administering a slap now and then. The maid laced her mistress into a little beribboned busk that pushed her pretty breasts up so that they seemed almost to spill from her pale-pink underblouse. The nearly transparent sleeves were striped in gold. Carefully Skye drew her stockings up her shapely legs. They were pink silk, embroidered with a flowering vine of gold thread, and had been made in Paris. Several petticoats followed, and then the dress. A beautiful creation of the finest, softest velvet, it was a shimmering, jewel red, with a full, flowing skirt. Slashed sleeves revealed the pink-and-gold-striped sleeves of the underblouse.
Skye now sat, careful not to wrinkle her skirts, before her precious mirror while Molly brushed her dark hair until it shone with bluish lights. She was not allowed to bind it up until after her marriage. This had been a source of great frustration to Skye, especially at sea, but her father had been very firm about it. She might braid it, but the braids must hang long.
“No O’Malley maiden puts her hair up until she weds,” he stated, and there was no point in arguing.
Looking at herself in the mirror, however, she had to admit that her long, wavy hair was beautiful. Especially now, as Molly placed a little gold lace cap with a tiny veil on her head. Skye clasped the ruby necklace about her throat and studied the effect. The great stones glittered almost savagely against the creamy softness of her bare chest, and when she caught her breath she noted with surprise that her breasts swelled provocatively beneath the glittering rubies. The jeweled hair ornament was to be put aside until she wore her hair up, but she slipped on the earrings, bracelet, and ring. Sliding her feet into red velvet shoes, she stood.
Skye O'Malley Page 2