She drew away and smiled up at him. It was the first relaxed and genuine smile he had seen on her face in a very long time. “I am learning, Osman. Slowly, I will grant you, but I am learning. I will try to accept, and to trust, no matter what. For now, however, I see nothing but happiness ahead for me. Niall and I will return to Ireland, and I think I shall never roam again.”
Osman smiled back at her. “Be happy, Skye, my daughter. Allah only knows that no one deserves it more than you do.”
“Will we meet again, Osman?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
“Perhaps,” he answered, and then raising his hand in a gesture of farewell, Osman the astrologer turned and without another word left the ship.
Finally the gangway was pulled aboard, and the O’Malley sailors loosened the lines that bound them to the dock, tossing them back to the quai. As the ship began to move Skye closed the cabin door and slowly began to remove her clothing. Thoughtfully she gazed at each piece of the silken gauze garments, smoothing them carefully as the memories crowded in on her. Then with a sigh and a shake of her head she folded the clothes resolutely and began to draw on her own things, the split-legged skirt, the silk shirt, her hose, her boots, her belt with its Celtic buckle of bright enamel. For a long moment she felt very odd in such garments, for she had grown used to her silken draperies. With a laugh she began to brush her hair, then braided it firmly into one single plait. A quick glimpse in the cabin’s pier glass told her that Skye O’Malley had returned, and with a grin she whirled away from it, opened the door, and walked out upon the deck.
“Welcome back, m’lady,” Bran Kelly said.
“Thank you, Bran. How is Daisy?”
“Well, and our first bairn, a lad, also.”
“Bran! Congratulations! I see I shall have to train another girl to be my tiring woman now, but I don’t mind as long as you and Daisy are happy.”
“I doubt Daisy will let you, m’lady, but time enough to argue with her when we get home,” Bran chuckled.
“How soon until we reach Lord Burke’s ship, Bran?”
“A few hours if this breeze will hold, m’lady. No more, I promise.”
Skye walked to the bow of the ship and stood there quietly, her face into the wind, never once looking back at the city. Yes, Algiers had seemed a different place this time, quite unlike the city she remembered adoring so in her days as Khalid el Bey’s wife. Then it had seemed a magical, colorful, wonderful place filled with love. This time she had seen its harshness and its cruelty. The memory of Claire O’Flaherty twisting in agony would live with her for a long, long time. Skye breathed deeply of the soft and warm sea air to clear her head of the memories. Looking back was not the answer. She wanted to look forward now. Just over the horizon was her husband, and she could hardly wait to reach him. Indeed, had she believed that she could swim faster than her ship could sail, she would have gone over the side and into the sea.
Niall! Niall! She cried to him with her heart.
“Skye! Skye!” Niall Burke twisted frantically upon the bed of the master cabin. “Robbie? Robbie, are you there?”
“I’m here, lad.” Robbie placed a calming hand on Niall Burke’s feverish forehead, and his face puckered with worry.
“Where is Skye, Robbie? Where is my wife?” Niall begged plaintively.
“She’s coming, laddie,” Robbie soothed the ill man. “She’s on her way this very minute.”
“I’m thirsty, Robbie. So thirsty.” Niall moved restlessly once more.
“Here, laddie.” Robert Small held a goblet of wine to Lord Burke’s lips. “Drink this.”
Niall gulped at the goblet eagerly, but seconds later he was vomiting the liquid back into a basin. “Where are my jellies, Robbie? The comfits help when I feel poorly.”
“They’re gone, m’lord. You ate the last of them several days ago. If you only knew what was in them we might make you some.”
“I don’t know, Robbie. I’ve told you I don’t know! Old Rabi made them for me, and Hamal gave me a box just before I escaped; but I have no idea what was in them.” Niall’s voice was reproachful and irritable at the same time. Then suddenly he slipped into a light slumber.
Robbie sighed. It was clear to him that Lord Burke had been poisoned with some potion. Why else would he be in such a state? Perhaps when Skye came aboard her presence would encourage her husband to make a swift and full recovery. Robert Small got up and moved to the cabin door. “Keep an eye on his lordship,” he commanded the ship’s boy. “If you need me I’ll be topside waiting for Lady Burke.”
“Aye, sir!” came the obedient reply.
Robbie stamped out on deck, glad to be free of the stifling cabin. With relief he drew in great lungfuls of clean sea air. “Any sign of her?” he asked MacGuire as he came abreast of the old captain.
“Crow’s nest spotted a sail out of Algiers harbor making for us just a minute or two ago. It’s just visible now on the horizon. How’s his lordship?”
“Not good. I think he’s dying, Sean, and I don’t know what in hell is killing him!”
“Fash, man! Niall Burke’s stronger than that. I’ve known him since he was a brash young boy. He can’t be dying!”
“He is, I’m telling you,” Robbie argued worriedly. “He’s constantly thirsty, yet he can’t hold anything either liquid or solid on his stomach, and for two days his bowels have suffered with the bloody flux. What sleep he can manage is disturbed by nightmares of horrendous proportions, his eyes are red, his skin and mouth so dry that both his lips and his elbows are peeling. I’ve never seen anything like it, man!”
“Maybe we should cup him,” MacGuire suggested halfheartedly.
“Cup him? Jesu, man! You’ll kill him for sure! God’s bones, I hope this wind holds! Maybe the sight of her will revive him.”
“If he dies it’ll kill her,” MacGuire said ominously. “To lose him once was bad, but to lose him a second time after what she’s been through …” He crossed himself nervously.
Robert Small stared grimly out to sea. The very same thought had crossed his mind, but he had anticipated a possible bad end to this whole venture, and had come prepared for it. He wasn’t going to let her die, and neither was Adam de Marisco. De Marisco had been frantic when Robbie had returned to England and told him what Skye had done. The island lord had come off his lonely rock ready to mount an expedition to rescue Skye. Now, Adam de Marisco was waiting patiently in Robbie’s own cabin to give her aid and comfort should she need it.
Robert Small watched with a sense of foreboding as Bran Kelly’s ship drew closer and closer to his own.
“Captain Small! Lord Burke is awake and calling for you.” The cabin boy looked anxiously up at him, tugging him back into the present.
“Tell Lord Burke that his wife’s ship is almost upon us, and that I will stay on deck to greet her. We will both be with him as soon as she is aboard.”
“Aye, sir.” The boy hurried back to the master cabin.
Bran Kelly maneuvered his vessel carefully in the rolling sea until the two ships were bobbing next to one another. A plank was put between them, and Skye swiftly crossed the small space, flinging herself into Robbie’s arms. With a relieved groan he hugged her, enjoying the lovely fragrance of damask rose that always surrounded her. “God, Skye lass, thank heaven we have you back safely!”
She was taller than he, but she still managed to press her face into his leather jerkin, inhaling his tobacco scent. “Robbie,” she murmured almost incoherently. “Dearest Robbie!”
For a long moment they stood locked in a close and mutually loving embrace, and then Skye pulled away. “Where is Niall, Robbie? Where is my husband?”
He looked up at her. “Niall is in the master cabin, Skye lass, but he’s not been well for several days now.”
“Not been well?” she repeated.
“I don’t know what it is, lass. He’s had the bloody flux, and he vomits. I’m not a doctor,” he finished helplessly.
Niall Burke opened his silvery eyes, and his glance was sad, but filled with love. With trembling hand he reached up to touch her cheek, and then he sighed. “I had forgotten how soft your skin is, Skye, my love,” he said low.
“Oh, Niall,” she whispered, “my dearest, dearest love. It will be all right now, I promise you. We are on our way home again. In just a few weeks’ time we shall see Ireland again, and the children are waiting.” Skye had no idea that she was crying, the hot tears pouring down her face unchecked. “God’s bones, Niall! The children won’t know either of us. You went away just after Padraic’s birth, and Deirdre was still a babe then. He’ll be three and a half now, and she’s almost five, my darling. High time we got back to our bairns, Niall! High time we gave them more brothers and sisters!”
“I’m dying,” he said.
“Nooooooo!” She sobbed the word, but even as she did so she felt her heart constrict painfully, as if a hand were squeezing it hard.
“I don’t want to,” he whispered plaintively, “but I am. I don’t know why, but I am.”
She couldn’t breathe. For a moment panic threatened to envelop her, but then her chest heaved and air filled her lungs. “You are very ill, Niall, my love,” she said in a firm voice. A voice that belied her pounding heart; “but it doesn’t mean you are going to die. I won’t let you die! The ship is well provisioned with fresh foods and water, and I shall cook for you myself. Remember you told me how ill you were those years ago when Constanza took care of you? It’s just a recurrence of your old illness. You’ll see,” she finished brightly. “I shall make you well again.”
He sighed sadly. “Skye, I am dying. When Constanza cared for me I was suffering from the effects of a nasty wound, and shock. I don’t know what this is, but I cannot last much longer.” He fell back on the bed again, barely conscious with the effort of trying to make her understand.
“Don’t die, Niall,” she pleaded piteously with him as if he had personal control over the situation. “You can’t die! Not after what I have been through to help free you! You can’t die!”
His silvery gaze enveloped her again. “I know what you have been through, my love, I know. You are so brave, Skye, my darling. You have the heart of a lion, my love, and the soul of an angel. I shall miss you, but I am grateful that Darragh’s blade did not kill me. I rejoice that Claire’s plot did not prevent us from saying our good-byes. Now I know that there is a God in Heaven, Skye, for he has heard my most fervent prayers. He has granted me a final glimpse of you, my dearest heart.”
She focused on him through the grayish blur of her tears, and saw that he spoke a greater truth than she was willing to recognize. “Don’t leave me, Niall,” she said quietly. “I cannot bear it if you leave me now. Not now!”
“The choice is not mine to make, Skye. Now kiss me, my darling wife. One kiss before I must leave you. A final memory for me to take with me on my journey.” His glance was steadfast, almost sympathetic of her plight, for he knew it would be far harder on her than it would be on him.
Skye wanted to flee this nightmare. In her brain pounded the one thought! Had it all been for this?
“Skye!” His voice was urgent. His hand pulled loose of hers.
Slowly she bent her head, her eyes closing as her lips met with his. For a brief moment she felt incredible joy at the touch of his mouth on hers, but then the pressure of his kiss slackened and, lifting her head, Skye saw that his silver eyes were suddenly dull and sightless; Niall Burke was dead. She sat frozen by his side for some time, feeling nothing; neither heat nor cold, certainly not the beat of her heart. She was numb to her very soul. Finally Skye slowly rose and, reaching up, gently drew his eyelids shut. “Farewell, my first love, my final love. You’re home safe in Ireland now, Niall Burke. You’re safe at long, long last!”
She turned as the door to the cabin opened, and Robert Small entered the room. “He’s dead, Robbie,” she said in a calm, detached voice.
“Skye …” He moved toward her to comfort her.
“Set a course for Beaumont de Jaspre, Robbie. I will not give my husband’s body up to the sea. I will ask permission of Nicolas to bury Niall in the cathedral at Villerose. In a few years when the flesh has rotted from his bones we will bring his remains home to Ireland. He would want it that way. As would the old MacWilliam.”
“Skye, ’Tis madness you speak. Let us bury him now.”
“If you give him to the sea, Robbie, then I will follow him into the sea. Do you understand me?” Her voice was flinty hard, its tone unlike anything he had ever heard from her before.
Robert Small knew instinctively that he must not argue with her, or anger her. She was poised on the very brink of madness, and the merest, faintest touch would send her hurtling into its dark depths. “All right, lass,” he said quietly. “We’ll do it your way. Do you want the body removed from the cabin now, or shall we leave it?”
“The cargo hold is empty but for ballast?”
“Aye.”
“Then put him there, Robbie, but not in the dark. Let there be candles about him, and a velvet cloth on his bier. I want a watch about him the entire time, and I shall pray by his side until we reach port.”
“Let me have the boy bring you something to eat before you begin your vigil,” Robbie suggested gently.
“Some wine,” she answered. “Nothing more. I could not eat now.”
“Some wine,” he repeated, and backed from the cabin.
She stood where he had left her, silent and stonelike. The door opened again, and she heard a small voice say, “M’lady, the wine you asked for is here.” Looking down, Skye encountered the curious glance of a flame-haired boy about nine. “The wine, m’lady.” He held out a small tray upon which rested a goblet.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Michael, m’lady.”
“Michael what?”
“Don’t know, m’lady. Captain Small found me in an alley with me head all bloodied. I don’t remember nothing except I’m called Michael.”
“I have a brother named Michael, Michael. He is a priest. Would you like to be a priest?”
“No, m’lady! I wants to be like Captain Small!”
Skye looked down at the boy and, touching his hair with a gentle gesture, said, “Perhaps you will be like him one day, Michael. He’s a good man to follow.”
“Yes, m’lady,” the boy said, and then hurried from the room.
The doorway was instantly filled by Adam de Marisco’s huge bulk. “Skye.” He stood looking anxiously in at her.
“Come in, Adam,” she said.
“You’re not surprised to see me, little girl,” he stated flatly.
“Have you not always been there when I needed you, Adam?”
He stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him. “I should never have let you go from me, Skye.”
“The choice was neither yours nor mine, Adam. We are both Elizabeth Tudor’s loyal servants. Besides, once my friend, Osman, knew where Niall was, he would have found me wherever I was. Have I not given you enough pain, Adam, that you seek me out to suffer further?”
“I only suffer because you suffer, Skye.” His arms went about her, and he held her tightly against his chest. Then without a word Adam picked her up, carried her across the cabin, and sat down with her in the stern window seat. He cradled her tenderly as he would have cradled a child, and sighing, she pressed her face for a moment against his silk-covered chest. The smell of him was familiar an
d reassuring. “Can you not cry, little girl?” he asked her.
She shook her head in the negative. “I seem to have no tears left in me, Adam. I have wept so often for Niall Burke that now in the hour of his death there is nothing inside of me but a vast and cold emptiness.”
He understood. Of all the people she knew in the world he understood the best. “I am here, Skye,” he said quietly. “I will not leave you.”
“I know, Adam,” was her answer, and then they settled into silent sorrow.
It didn’t surprise him that she fell asleep in his protective embrace. He watched her slip from the painful reality of consciousness into a deep slumber, not moving as several seamen led by Robbie entered the cabin and quietly removed Lord Burke’s body. Then the boy, Michael, returned to change the sheets and coverlet upon the bed, and when he had departed Adam de Marisco placed Skye into it, carefully removing her boots, her hose, her belt, and her double-legged skirt. Having tucked her snugly beneath the down coverlet, he slipped from the cabin knowing that she would sleep for many hours, for Robbie had put a sleeping draught into her wine. Sleep, Adam knew, was the best healer of all.
Skye slept for almost two days, her vigil forgotten, and by the time she awoke they were arriving in Beaumont de Jaspre. Her long rest had wiped the dark smudges from beneath her beautiful sea-blue eyes, but she was as calm and emotionless as when she had fallen asleep. She sat propped up by several large pillows, giving orders from her bed. On the small table by her was a plate with the remains of an egg that had been poached in marsala to tempt her appetite. Skye had eaten it, but it had had no taste. She ate to survive, nothing more.
“Will you go to Edmond de Beaumont, Robbie, and request a place in the cathedral for Niall’s body? Tell him I will meet all expenses involved, and of course there will be a generous donation to the bishop for his kindness. Then go to the coffinmaker. I want the finest.”
“What of the young duc, Skye lass?”
“What about him?” She looked puzzled.
“He loved you,” Robbie said helplessly.
All the Sweet Tomorrows Page 47
