Skye O'Malley

by Bertrice Small

  They rode back into the city of Algiers on the following morning. They were dressed identically in white. The sleek black panthers were by their sides, leashed, but nonetheless causing a stir as they moved through the crowded streets of the lower city. That same day, when they had resettled themselves, Khalid el Bey took his wife into the library where Jean sat working.

  “Ho, Jean! I bring you a pupil.”

  The little Frenchman looked up with a smile. “Welcome home, my lord Khalid! Welcome home, my lady Skye! Who is to be my pupil, and in what?”

  “I want you to teach the lady Skye the intricacies of my business. Should something ever happen to me she would be helpless without a thorough knowledge of it. Since she can already read, write, and speak in four languages it should not prove difficult as long as she can grasp simple mathematics.”

  “What are mathematics?” asked Skye.

  “Here, mistress,” Jean wrote a simple sum on a parchment. “If you take one hundred dinars and add to them another fifty dinars you have—”

  “One hundred and fifty dinars,” replied Skye, “and by the same token if you have one hundred and fifty dinars and take or subtract from them seventy-five dinars you will have remaining seventy-five.”

  The two men looked at each other in complete surprise, and Skye said, “Is that not correct, Khalid? Have I made an error?”

  “No, my Skye, you have not made an error. You are quick and quite correct, is she not, Jean?”

  “Indeed, my lord. Indeed!”

  The bey laughed. “I think I leave you in good hands, my love. Do not be too hard on my good Jean, for he is invaluable to me.” Khalid walked from the room, laughing softly to himself.

  Skye seated herself demurely at the library table and looked expectantly at Jean, who was suddenly a little fearful that he had that rarest of creatures on his hands—an intelligent woman. Drawing a deep breath, he plunged into the business at hand.

  For the next few weeks Skye spent most of her days with Khalid and Jean, closeted in the library, and she suddenly understood the true nature of her husband’s business. She was shocked for a while. Then, realizing that Khalid had not invented prostitution, she accepted it.

  She quickly understood that each house Khalid owned had to be treated as a separate entity. Those located on the waterfront, serving sailors of all nations, were provisioned far differently from the House of Felicity. The waterfront brothels served only beer, but in the House of Felicity and its two sister houses, the menu was quite varied. Even the women varied with the different establishments. On the waterfront, pretty but sturdy peasant girls were the choice, girls who might easily service two dozen men a day without ill effect.

  Young women bought for Khalid’s more elegant brothels were all beauties carefully schooled in proper Arabic and French so they might converse well. They were also taught good manners, hygiene, and elegant ways of dressing. Their sexual skills were excellent. The men who bought their company bought it for an entire evening.

  All of Khalid el Bey’s waterfront brothels worked their women five days a week and allowed them rest for two days. This necessitated keeping records on who was working and who was not. Each of these women received a hundredth portion of the fee collected for her services each night, and at the end of five years was given her freedom and the monies accrued. Most married and settled down. Some, however, took to the streets and were quickly lost. Others hired themselves out to lesser brothels and quickly found themselves overworked and disease-ridden. Most brothel keepers were not as careful with their women as Khalid el Bey, who kept two Moorish doctors on his staff and had his women checked weekly for the pox.

  All of this meant voluminous records, and Skye found herself becoming very interested in her husband’s business dealings. His brothels involved not only the care and well-being of people and property but the provisioning of those people and the upkeep of the property.

  Problems were tripled in the more elegant brothels, for the women there had to be exquisitely clothed and jeweled. They needed oil baths and wore only the finest perfumes. But despite his vast outlay, Khalid el Bey was a rich man. Profits far exceeded expenses. And these profits had to be invested.

  This was the thing that interested Skye the most, the investment of her husband’s funds. Some of the money was placed with a goldsmith, Judah ben Simon. Some of it had been put into portable wealth such as loose gem stones. The rest was invested with the adventure ships belonging to an Englishman called Robert Small. It was shortly after their return from the Pearl Kiosk that Skye met this bluff sea captain.

  One night as she and Khalid sat listening to love songs sung by a sweet-voiced slave girl, an uproar ensued from the courtyard of the house. Her husband leaped to his feet laughing and Skye could hear a booming voice saying, “Now, laddie, your master may be alaying with one of his fancy pieces, but believe me, he’ll stop to see me. Out of my way! Damme, Khalid, you old Moor. Where are you?” The door to the chamber flew open and a tiny-legged man strode into the room.

  He was a most fantastic sight. His colorful clothes included puffed and slashed red velvet breeches, black silk stockings, a red velvet doublet embroidered in gold and silver thread, a long cape, and a flat hat with an egret plume. On a tall man the clothing might not have been so fantastic, but Robert Small stood only five feet tall. Powerfully built, he had sandy-brown hair and his eyes were a snapping blue. His round, weathered face was mischievous and kindly while also being the homeliest Skye had ever seen. The little man was as freckled as a thrush’s egg. “Ha! There you be, Khalid, and as usual you’ve got some rare beauty by your side.”

  “Robbie, you’re a wicked old man, and so I’ve no compunction in springing this surprise on you. The ‘rare beauty’ is my wife!”

  “God assoil my soul, Khalid el Bey! True?” The bey nodded, and the Englishman bowed low to Skye. “My humblest apologies, madam. I hope you’ll not think ill of me.” Then, realizing he’d spoken English, he said, “Khalid, I know not what language your lady speaks. You’ll tell her for me?”

  “There is no need, sir,” said Skye sweetly. “I fully comprehend you, and am not in the least offended. It’s quite natural you should think me a whore, considering the nature of my husband’s business. Now, however, you will excuse me, for I imagine you’ve much to talk about with my lord.” She rose gracefully and, smiling mischievously, left the room.

  The little Englishman chuckled. “How,” he asked, “did a renegade Spaniard-turned-Arab end up with an Irish wife?”

  “Irish? Skye is Irish?”

  “God almighty, man! Didn’t she tell you?”

  “She doesn’t know, my old friend. Several months ago I bought myself a rather bedraggled and frightened waif from a corsair captain. He had gotten her from an outbound captain who claimed to have captured her in a skirmish. He knew nothing of her history. When Skye regained her full senses she had no memory excepting her name.”

  “And so you married her! Lord, man, you’re a romantic at heart.”

  “Wrong!” Khalid el Bey poured the Englishman a tiny cup of sweet Turkish coffee. “I had intended to make her the finest and most expensive whore the world had ever seen.”

  Robert Small sucked his breath in sharply. “Did you indeed, laddie? And pray tell what stopped you?”

  “I fell in love with her, my friend. Not with just her face and luscious body, but with the woman I began to see emerging. She is without guile, and generous as well. She is also the least greedy female I have ever known, and when she looks at me with those marvelous blue eyes of hers I am lost, Robbie! Very soon, the thought of anyone other than myself touching her enraged me. I found that I wanted children and a loving wife, like a normal man.”

  “God help you, then, my friend, for you have a weakness now, and your enemies will use it against you. As long as the great Whoremaster of Algiers showed no vulnerability he was inviolable.”

  “Don’t fret, Robbie, I have no enemies. Even my women respect me.�
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  “Don’t be a fool, Khalid!” It was said sharply. “All wealthy and powerful men have enemies. Look closely to yourself and to that beauty you’ve married.”

  For a few minutes the two men sat silently sipping their coffee, then Robert Small spoke. “I’ve made you richer again, Khalid. The ships we sent to the New World have returned laden with precious metals, jewels, and furs. The ones that traveled south returned with spices, slaves, and gemstones. I have, as usual, saved the cream of the female slaves for you to see.”

  Khalid el Bey was all business now. “Did we lose any ships or men?”

  “No ships, but three men were lost on the Swan, off the Horn. It was a particularly bad storm, the captain tells me, but he didn’t lose one slave.”

  “Good! And you, Robbie, how was your voyage?”

  The captain chuckled and stretched his short frame out on the pillows, his hands behind his head. “Ah, Khalid, I wish you’d been with me. How often you’ve warned me of men’s greed, and the vulnerability that greed brings in. And you were right! I found us a mine manager in the Spanish Americas who is a younger son with no hope other than to end his days a rum-soaked wreck. His oldest brother, their father’s heir, married the girl he loved, and then arranged for him to be sent from Spain. He burns for vengeance, and so he has agreed to help us obtain six shiploads of gold for a percentage and passage back to Europe. It was a cheap price to pay, Khalid. We filled three ships this trip, and I’ve already sent three other ships.”

  “And how did this young don cover the theft? And how can we be sure he’ll not betray us?”

  “The first theft was covered by causing a mine to cave in. It’ll take months to clear it out, by which time we’ll have returned for the second load from the other mine. It will not matter if the Spaniards learn then that they have been robbed, for we’ll all be long gone by that time. The young don has a half-Spanish, half-Indian mistress he intends to marry and take to Paris with him. He can live quite well on what we pay him.

  “The mines he oversees give up the purest gold I’ve ever seen, Khalid! The other ships in our fleet have carried back the finest furs imaginable, along with basketsful of turquoise, coral, jade, amethyst, emeralds, and topaz. I have, as usual, saved a choice selection of furs and gems for you, along with some excellent Indian pearls and spices from the Southern fleet. Everything else has been disposed of through our regular channels, and your monies are already with your banker.”

  “You are generous, Robbie, and quite thorough, as always. Perhaps you will allow me to do a little something for you now. Your ship was sighted by friends of mine this morning, and I knew you would be with me by evening. Go to the House of Felicity, and you will find a surprise waiting for you.”

  The Englishman grinned delightedly. “Ah, Khalid, you didn’t have to go to any trouble.”

  The Whoremaster of Algiers grinned back, “She’s quite to your liking, Robbie. Go along now so I may rejoin my own lady.”

  The captain scrambled to his feet. “If my surprise is that good I’ll not be seeing you for several days, Khalid,” and he was quickly gone.

  Khalid el Bey stretched his long body in a catlike movement and called, “Skye!” She appeared immediately from behind a wall hanging, and sat down next to him. “You heard,” said her husband.

  “Yes, my lord. If this story is true then you are indeed fortunate to have such a partner.”

  “You can trust Robert Small with your life, my Skye. He is the most honest man I know. He has never cheated me. It is simply not in his nature.”

  “What awaits him at the House of Felicity? Have you found him some petite creature to soothe and comfort him?”

  Khalid laughed. “No! Though Robbie is a bit of a man, he likes big, tall women. The maiden awaiting him stands six feet and has breasts like summer melons. I’ve been given to understand that Robbie’s rod is as big as any man’s, so they will both enjoy themselves.”

  They laughed together, imagining the little man and his Amazon mistress locked in sweet combat. Then as easily as they had begun to laugh they stopped, and she was in his arms again. He kissed her until she ached for him. His hands slid beneath her sheer pale-blue silk caftan, his long fingers teasing her nipples until she whimpered.

  “Look at me, Skye,” he commanded softly, and she struggled to raise her heavy-lidded eyes to him. “You are my wife, beloved, and I love you.”

  Now, for the first time, she looked deep into his warm amber eyes and realized that she felt deeply toward Khalid. With this startling realization, the heartache that had assailed her continually ever since she’d awakened to her new life in Algiers seemed to dissolve, leaving her feeling as light as a feather. She loved! This was what love was, and she could remember it! Her eyes filled with happy tears and she said wonderingly, “Oh, Khalid! I love you, too! I do! I know that now!” And pulling his dark head down to hers, she kissed him deeply. He, feeling her certain, unwavering love, found his passion bursting into an unquenchable flame.

  Beneath his eager touch the silk of her robe tore away and his hands and mouth began their worshipful adoration of her. He loosened her lovely dark hair and spread it over the apricot velvet pillows. Then his long fingers gently traced her high cheekbones, moving down the fine line of her jaw to capture her small chin.

  “Tell me again, Skye,” he said softly.

  Her sapphire eyes caught his amber-gold ones and held them unwaveringly. “I love you, my lord Khalid,” she said firmly. “I love you!” Then she kissed him again, her little tongue teasing his mouth. He could feel her small round breasts rubbing against his chest and, unable to refuse the invitation, he lowered his head and nibbled on the hard, quivering nipples. His tongue pushed into her little navel and she eagerly thrust her torso toward him. He moved lower yet, his mouth seeking that most secret core. Tasting her seashell-like fragrance, his tongue darted like wildfire over the moist dark pink flesh. She whimpered, half in agony, half in ecstasy, her fingers catching at the dark hair of his head as he relentlessly pushed her beyond endurance. Amazingly, she did not shatter into a thousand pieces. She soared higher than she had ever done before. Then with great tenderness he kissed the soft inside of her thighs, pulled himself up over her, and gently took her.

  Skye was frantic with unfulfilled passion. She had never known such love as this. Or had she? Her mind whirled in confusion, but Khalid’s warm body soon overcame that. What difference did it make if she had loved before? Khalid was her husband. He loved her, and she loved him. Why should she torture herself with vague, flickering memories? All that mattered was now.

  “Skye! Skye! Come with me, my darling! Now! Now!”

  She met his ardor with her own, soaring as he did. Afterward, as she lay sated, she said quietly, “I want a child, Khalid.”

  He smiled in the darkness. This was further proof of her love. “I shall endeavor, my love, to give you everything you want—especially children.”

  Suddenly she laughed happily and, propping herself up on an elbow, looked down into his golden eyes. “I love you, and am loved in return,” she said. “Whatever has been before in my life can matter little in the light of this love. If it were important, then surely I should have remembered it all by now. I know who I am. I am Skye, the beloved wife of Khalid el Bey, the great Whoremaster of Algiers.”

  CHAPTER 11

  NIALL BURKE LAY WEAKLY BACK UPON THE SCENTED LINEN pillows and, focusing his silvery eyes clearly for the first time in weeks, gazed out at the distant blue mountains. The landscape outside his window was a riot of lush vegetation. Pink and red hibiscus, cloyingly sweet gardenias, spicy roses, and crisp lavender were all growing in a wild mass that spread upward from the gardens to the flowering vines that clung to the villa wall. It was all so vibrant.

  Now, totally immersed in the sights and smells, the shrieking of the darting parrots, Niall knew he would live. And fervently he wished he were dead.

  The carved oak door of his room opened then, admitting a y
oung girl whose big eyes lit up at the sight of him.

  “Ah, Señor Niall. At last you are fully awake. I am Constanza Maria Alcudia Cuidadela. My papa is the governor of this island, and you are in his house.” She put a tray on the nearby table.

  Feeling like a fool, Niall was forced to ask, “What island is this?”

  The girl blushed in pretty pink confusion. “Oh, señor, forgive me! You are on the island of Mallorca.”

  “How did I come to be here?”

  “You were brought to us from the fleet in which you traveled by a Captain MacGuire. He explained you are a great lord.”

  Niall forced back a small smile. “Is MacGuire still here, Señorita Constanza?”

  “Si, Señor Niall. Although the rest of your fleet sailed weeks ago, he refused to leave you. He said his mistress would not forgive him if he did. Would you like to see him?”

  Niall nodded and the girl pulled the embroidered bellpull by his bed. “Fetch the Irish captain at once, Ana,” she instructed the answering servant, then moved to straighten Niall’s pillows. She wore a rose fragrance, which caused a sharp pain to tear through Niall. Constanza poured something from the frosty majollica pitcher into a silver goblet.

  “It is the juice of the oranges from our garden,” she said. “Drink it. It will give you strength.” She gracefully handed the goblet to him, then sat and drew a small embroidery frame from a hidden pocket in her gown and began to stitch.

  He drank, and was pleasantly surprised by the cool, tart sweetness that slid down his parched throat. He studied the seated girl over the goblet. She was, he decided, about fifteen, and very lovely. She was quite petite, with a tiny waist and generous breasts. Her skin was a pale golden shade, her hair a darker gold, and her eyes were the color of purple pansies.