Constanza tore her head away, gasping for air. Frantically she sought his hands. But it wasn’t Niall she feared, it was herself. Niall Burke was a gentleman, and one word from her would halt him, yet she could not bring herself to say the word. No man had ever before kissed or touched her as he was doing. Her heart was pounding and she feared it might burst. Yet she did not stop him. His mouth was again on hers, tenderly searing her soul with a passion she had never even suspected she could feel. His fingers were undoing the laces of her bodice, gently pulling down her chemise.
Niall was amazed by the girl’s easy acquiescence. He was positive she was innocent, yet she seemed to welcome his advances. He felt a momentary guilt but pushed it away. Skye was dead, he was alive, and Constanza Cuidadela was fresh and sweet. His eyes feasted on her young breasts, beautiful golden orbs, their proud dark-coral nipples tight like unopened rosebuds. Almost reverently, he caressed and kissed them, delighting in her soft cry.
Constanza felt an unfamiliar tightness building within her. It frightened her a little. She did not want him to stop, but suddenly he did.
“You are a virgin, aren’t you, niña?” Her blush gave him his answer. “I will not dishonor you, Constanza,” he told her gravely. “It would not be right if I spoiled you for your future husband, especially after your kindness to me. I had no right to do what I have just done. For that I ask your forgiveness and your understanding.”
Constanza sat very still, making no attempt to cover herself. In the meadow the roan stallion screamed defiantly and brutally mounted the white mare, biting her silken neck and thrusting his great organ into her. Constanza rose and deftly shed the rest of her clothes. They lay in a colorful heap about her trim ankles. She looked at Niall proudly.
“I want you to do to me what your stallion does to my mare,” she said softly.
Niall Burke felt the aching hardness in his groin. It would take a saint to refuse such an invitation, and he was no saint. Still, he was no rake, either. Then the idea was born in him. Why not? he thought. I will have to sooner or later. And so he said, “Will you be my wife, Constanzita?”
“Yes,” she answered. He stood up, towering over her, and slowly pulled off his own clothes. She watched him, curious. Having no brothers, she had no certain knowledge of male anatomy. Before her amazed eyes his masculinity rose proudly like a battle flag. He took her hand, saying tenderly, “Touch it, niña. I promise it won’t bite you … though it will love you well.”
Her small hand closed about him, gently, virginally curious. He held his breath, afraid of frightening her. Her warm little hand cradled him, fondling him with innocent expertise, and he could not restrain an intense groan. Startled, she let go.
“I have hurt you!”
“Nay, lovey, you pleasure me beyond all,” and he drew her into his arms and kissed her again. Her round breasts, hard now with her mounting passion, rubbed against his dark furred chest until the little nipples were raw with desire. Her torso pressed tightly against him like burning silk, trembling weakly as her legs began to give way. But her voice was low and strong.
“Take me, my Niall. Take me like the stallion took my mare!”
He lowered her to the ground, then knelt beside her. Her violet eyes were wide with wonder as he bent his head to catch a little nipple in his mouth. Slowly he sucked on it, watching with narrowed silver eyes as her breath came in short little gasps and her hips began to twitch. A caressing hand moved down her fevered body, and she jumped as he touched that most secret of places. His finger pushed through the soft defensive folds, rubbing insistently, and Constanza thought she was going to faint.
Her heart was leaping about wildly, and she was being buffeted by a great storm of new feelings, the like of which she’d never known. Her belly ached, and between her legs where his hand teased she ached in a different way. When he gently put his long finger into her she was relieved, but when he withdrew, the ache was worse and she whimpered.
“All right, lovey,” he said softly, “I will make it better now,” and he mounted her, parting her trembling thighs, and slowly entered her. She opened herself to him like a flower. Her eyes never left his face even when he reached her tight little virgin shield and pierced it, swiftly, so as to give her less hurt.
Constanza felt the slow, burning pain spread quickly up her, and she cried out. His lips covered her protest, his tongue probing her mouth, matching the rhythm of his throbbing spear. Something wonderful was happening to her, and she eagerly thrust her hips upward to meet his fierce downward thrusts. The pain was gone, and she was soaring like a bird in flight. Her little hands grasped his tight buttocks to bring him closer, and at the moment of her climax she tore her head away from him, shrieking her joy. Then she fainted.
Niall Burke lay panting in astounded exhaustion. Never had he experienced such passion in a virgin, and she had certainly been a virgin, as the blood on her thighs attested. Now she lay drained and unconscious. He studied her for a moment, this girl who would be his wife. She was certainly lovely, and although he wasn’t entirely sure he liked her excessive passion she would certainly be a better bedsport than poor Darragh had been. The MacWilliam might be angered momentarily by a surprise bride, but if Niall was lucky he would bring her home to Ireland with a babe in her belly or at her breast. In that case, all would be forgiven.
She was barely breathing, and he pulled her into his arms to warm her, to awaken her. Her eyelids fluttered as she began her slow return to consciousness. He held her close, murmuring soft little words of endearment, and as her eyes opened to focus on his face, she blushed furiously.
“Oh, Niall, what must you think of me? But, oh, it was wonderful!”
He laughed. “What I think, niña, is that I am a very lucky man. You were quite magnificent. How do you feel, lovey?”
“I flew, Niall! I really flew! I feel so happy now, and I want to do it again!”
He chuckled. “We shall fly together again, lovey, but I think perhaps it would be best now if we returned to Palma. I must ask your father’s permission to marry you.” He stood up and began to pull his clothes on, but it was not easy to concentrate when Constanza lay naked at his feet on her bed of meadow flowers and soft green grass. He finally managed to return some measure of order to his garb and, holding out his hand, he said, “Come, madam, and I will maid you.”
She stood, and he was again enchanted by the perfection of her slim body. Slowly she pulled on her undergarments, then the dress skirt, and lastly the dress top which he laced for her, first cupping the sweet round breasts and fondling them. Leaning back against him, she murmured contently.
He spanked her bottom fondly. “Pack the luncheon basket, niña, while I catch the horses and saddle them up.”
They returned to Palma in the late afternoon. One look at Constanza’s face brought a cry of joy from Ana. As Niall dismounted his horse the older woman grasped his hands and kissed them. “Gracias, Señor Niall! My Constanza will make you a good wife, I swear it!”
“Then you think the Conde will give his consent, Ana?”
A crafty look came into the woman’s eyes. “He will at first refuse you, for he has never forgiven my niña’s birth. If, however, you tell him that you have dishonored his daughter then he will quickly consent, for he fears scandal more than anything else.”
“In that case, Ana, I shall speak to him at once,” smiled Niall.
“He is in his library now, my lord.”
Niall bent down and brushed Constanza’s lips. “For luck, Constanzita,” he said, and was gone.
“Aiiieee, my niña! You have at last found a man, and what a man! He will keep your belly filled for years to come. It is what I have prayed for, niña. Someone to take you from the Conde, and his bitterness. Now you will have a good life, a normal life.” She hugged the girl hard. Then, catching herself, she gasped, “In my happiness I have forgotten you, my Constanza. You are all right? He was gentle?”
“He was gentle, nurse, but I am sore and
could use a bath.”
“At once, niña! At once!”
And while Constanza bathed herself in a warm, scented tub, Niall Burke sprawled his long frame in a rather uncomfortable chair in the Conde’s library. In his big hand he twirled the stem of a small wine glass. The Conde stared coldly at his guest.
“You are vastly improved in health, Lord Burke.” It was more a statement than a question. “I expect you will soon leave us.”
Niall nodded. “Soon, my lord, and when I go there is something I would take with me from Mallorca.”
“A souvenir of sorts, Lord Burke?”
Niall could not resist a chuckle. “Of sorts,” he said. “I wish to marry Constanza. I am formally applying to you for her hand.”
The Conde’s facial expression never wavered. “It is impossible, Lord Burke.”
“She is previously contracted?”
“No.”
“She is ill with some fatal sickness?”
“No.”
“Then why do you refuse me? I am the only son and heir of a wealthy and noble man. In my country, my lineage is equal to your own. You would have grandchildren. And, as my wife, your daughter would lack for nothing.”
“I do not have to explain myself to you, Lord Burke. I am Constanza’s father, and I have refused your suit. My word is all that counts.”
Niall drew a deep breath. “Is the reason for your refusal the fact that you doubt your daughter’s paternity?”
Francisco Cuidadela grew white. “You are impertinent, Lord Burke. Leave me! I do not choose to discuss it.”
Niall’s silvery eyes narrowed. “Let me tell you how I spent my afternoon, Conde. I spent it enjoying your daughter’s favors. She gave herself to me quite willingly, and I am pleased to say that she was a virgin. At this very moment my seed could be rooting in her fertile womb. You deliberately destroyed her chances of marriage here on Mallorca. Now not even a convent will have her. How will you face your friends when she grows big with my child? You are the last of your line, Conde, and your late wife’s family is also long gone. There is no place you can send Constanza to hide her shame. Already I hear the laughter of your friends. And if King Philip should hear of this scandal you might find yourself rapidly replaced as governor here.
“On the other hand, if you accept my suit you will be envied your cleverness for catching such a fine prize as myself. But, of course, the decision is yours.”
Francisco Cuidadela had gone from white to red and back to white again as Niall talked. Now the Conde made a strangled sound.
“Does that mean you accept, my lord?” asked Niall politely.
The older man nodded weakly, and Niall smiled, satisfied. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we shall see the bishop and arrange for the first of the banns to be posted. Have your secretary bring me a copy of the marriage contract in the morning. I trust that Constanza’s dowry will be quite ample, as she is your only child. Not that I care,” he said, “but my father will expect it.”
The Conde sent him a black look. Chuckling softly, Niall left the library. It was done. Once again he was betrothed, and he hoped that, this time, the union would produce children.
Constanza was not Skye, nor would she ever take Skye’s place in his heart. He laughed ruefully. He had never loved anyone but Skye. Why had fate been so cruel as to separate them just when they were so near to marriage? “Skye,” he whispered her name softly. “Skye O’Malley, my love.” He tasted the words on his tongue. No, she couldn’t be dead! Would not her spirit have come to him, and wouldn’t he have felt it if she were? Must he accept that she was dead when he truly could not believe it was so?
No, he would never love Constanza as he had loved Skye, but Constanza was sweet and good and deserved his full attention. She would have it too, he vowed; but when he closed his eyes to conjure up her oval face with its violet eyes and halo of golden curls he instead saw a cloud of black hair framing a heart-shaped face with laughing blue eyes and a soft red mouth.
“Dammit, Skye O’Malley,” he swore. “I cannot help it that I am alive, and you are … are … Leave me in peace, my darling, to find some kind of happiness!”
He found Constanza and announced, “Your father has consented to our marriage, lovey. Tomorrow we shall have the bishop read the first banns at mass, and the contracts shall be signed.”
“I cannot believe it,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “How did you convince him?”
“I told him how we spent the afternoon,” said Niall drily.
Constanza swayed. “Oh! He will beat me!”
Seeing her white face left no doubt in his mind that she did not exaggerate. “Has he beaten you before, lovey?”
“Of course. He is my papa. He is never an easy man, Niall, but knowing that I gave myself to you willingly will infuriate him. I am truly afraid.”
“Don’t be frightened, Constanzita. I will not allow anyone, even your father, to harm you.”
With a contented sigh she nestled into his arms, and he felt better than he had in a long time. She loved him, she needed him, and it would be good between them.
The marriage contracts were signed the following morning and the first banns were read at the Palma cathedral’s noon mass. By nightfall felicitations were pouring into the governor’s villa from all the best families on the island. The Conde was particularly pleased when one of his friends who had spent time in London and Dublin congratulated him on obtaining such a fine catch for Constanza.
“Lord Burke’s father is quite wealthy, my dear Francisco, and dotes on his only son as you have doted on Constanza. What a fine match! But then, you were always a shrewd devil, eh?” The two men chuckled conspiratorially, and the Conde began to feel that perhaps he had the upper hand after all. This tempered his unfriendly feelings toward Niall.
The banns were read twice again within the month and then on a bright winter’s morning several days after the Twelfth Night feast had ended, Constanza Maria Theresa Floreal Alcudia Cuidadela was joined in holy matrimony to Lord Niall Sean Burke. The bishop of Mallorca performed the ceremony.
The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, making beautiful wavy patterns on the pale-gray stone floors. The bride was preceded by six little girls in pale-pink silk dresses over miniature farthingales with short puffed sleeves, wreaths of rosebuds in their unbound hair. The children carried gilt baskets of flower petals which they strewed about lavishly.
Constanza clung to her father’s arm, a vision so exquisitely ethereal that an audible sigh rose collectively from the guests. Her gown was a heavy white silk brocade overskirt on a cloth-of-silver underskirt. The upper sleeves of the gown were large puffs of white brocade, slashed to show the silver interior. The sleeves were edged in lace just below the elbow. The lower sleeves were thin white silk that clung tightly to the arm and ended in cuffs of lace. The white brocade bodice was tight, and began just above the swell of the bride’s ample bosom. Modesty was preserved by a transparent silk chiffon insert that had a dainty, virginal, round lace collar.
Constanza’s golden hair was unbound and topped by a wreath of white rosebuds attached by small pearl pins to a sheer cloud of lace that floated about her. In one hand she carried a bouquet of gardenias and about her slender neck was a single strand of pearls.
The groom, awaiting her at the altar, was equally elegant. His silk hose were red-and-gold-striped, his upper legs covered by puffed and slashed breeches of claret-red velvet. His short, high-collared doublet was of matching silk and open at the front to show an embroidered white silk undershirt ruffled at the wrists. Covering his doublet was an embroidered overjerkin of claret-red velvet, studded with freshwater pearls and gold beads. His rakish velvet cap was tilted to show its heavily jeweled underside, and a pink plume drooped from it. His shoes, tanned from the hide of an unborn calf, were gilded a pale gold.
Sword and dagger were de rigueur, and both of Niall’s blades were of the finest Toledo steel. The hilts, however, were gold, a
nd heavily jeweled in diamonds and rubies. Encircling his neck and spilling down onto his chest was a heavy gold chain with a large gold, diamond, and ruby medallion depicting a raised winged griffon.
The women eyed his broad chest and well-turned legs and sighed behind their fans. How on earth, they wondered, did that meek little milksop catch such a man? It was said that the couple would remain on Mallorca for several months before journeying to London and the court of the young new English queen, Elizabeth. Perhaps in that time they might have the opportunity to offer their charms to the handsome Lord Burke? They would show him what an error it was to wed in haste.
The ceremony ended, and with the bishop’s permission Niall tenderly brushed the lips of his bride. Her shining eyes and sweet blush told him how happy she was. Smiling, he tucked her small hand in his arm and swept her down the aisle of the cathedral, back across the square, and into the governor’s villa. Soon they were greeting their guests.
The Conde had spared no expense in the preparation of his only child’s bridal feast. The tables groaned with sides of beef, whole young roasted lambs and kids, larded ducks, whole swans in aspic, lemoned and gingered capons. There were pigeon and lark pies with their flaky crusts steaming, and huge bowls of paella, red lobster bits and green olives showing brilliantly against the saffroned yellow rice. There were platters of boiled shrimp in white wine and herbs, a tub of raw oysters, platters of new green scallions, and tiny red love apples. Great loaves of white bread, both lean and long and fat and round, had been placed at intervals down the board. One whole table had been set aside for sweets. There were plates of molded jellies in red, green, and gold, dishes of sugared almonds, cakes, marzipan fruit tarts, and silver bowls of black raisins, purple figs, green and white grapes, and Seville oranges. Deep-red and golden wines and heady beer flowed from the villa fountains.
The musicians played lively tunes as they moved among the guests. At the head table Niall and Constanza sat in the place of honor receiving congratulations. Neither missed the admiring looks cast the groom’s way by many of the ladies, and the bride’s purple-pansy eyes darkened jealously.
Skye O'Malley Page 20