She was whiter than her gown, and had Dom bothered to look closer, he would have seen the helpless, trapped look in her eyes. The drug given her by her sister forced her to comply with the farce. Her responses were so low that they could barely be heard, and she moved like a puppet. Her family assumed it was bridal nerves.
They were pronounced man and wife. They turned to face their families and, at that moment, the chapel doors were flung open, revealing Niall Burke, his face anguished, his eyes stark with a pain that only she could understand. Skye simply wanted to die.
“Kiss the bride! Kiss the bride!” came the ribald shouts.
Dom O’Flaherty turned Skye so that she faced him. “Now,” he said triumphantly, “you belong to me!” His mouth found hers. He forced his tongue between her soft lips and into her mouth. Around them came the crude cries of encouragement. The tongue was soft, and demanding. Seeking to escape this horror, Skye fainted.
“Ho!” shouted Dubhdara O’Malley, well pleased. “Here’s fine proof of my lass’s innocence! Her first kiss and she swoons! Loosen her laces, lad. You’re no stranger to women’s clothes, or so I’m told.”
While the laughter that greeted O’Malley’s sally echoed around the chapel, Dom O’Flaherty picked up his bride and carried her from the room. Helplessly Niall Burke watched as the unconscious Skye was borne back to her room. He wanted to hit the smug young man who cradled Skye in his arms with such obvious pride of ownership.
For the first time in his life, the heir to one of the most powerful families in Ireland had been thwarted. For the last three days Niall had tried unsuccessfully to see the O’Malley, but Dubhdara had been unavailable to his guests because of his young wife’s lying in. Under the circumstances, Niall hadn’t expected them to marry Skye off so quickly. He had thought he had time to speak with the O’Malley. Though the situation would have been embarrassing, there would have been no real disgrace in O’Malley exchanging the heir to Ballyhennessey for the heir to the MacWilliam of Mayo.
Niall pushed, along with the family, into the bedchamber. Dom laid his burden upon the bed. With nimble fingers the bridegroom loosened the girl’s laces. Momentarily forgetful of his audience, Dom caressed the soft, creamy swell of Skye’s breast. The hunger in his pale-blue eyes was unmistakable, and Niall felt a murderous rage well up in him.
“Now, now, my son, we’ll have none of that until tonight,” chuckled O’Malley. “Your bride’s got to be able to stand for all the toasts that’ll be drunk at the feast, and she’ll be in no condition if you have her now.”
O’Flaherty flushed amid the leers and snickers. Then Eibhlin pushed through the crowd to Skye’s side and, kneeling, began to rub the girl’s wrists. “Molly—the wine, please. And a burnt feather. Da, it would help if all these people left. You too, brother Dom. If Skye is to be up to enjoy her own wedding feast, she must rest now.”
The room slowly emptied, and Eibhlin and Molly raised Skye up. First the feather was burnt and waved beneath her nose, then the drugged wine was forced between her lips. Skye coughed, choked, and opened her eyes. “You fainted,” said the nun drily.
“He … he put his tongue in my mouth, Eibhlin,” said Skye, visibly shocked. “He … he said that I belong to him.”
“You do.”
“No! Never to Dom O’Flaherty! Never to any man!”
Eibhlin turned. “You may leave us,” she told the reluctant Molly. Then Eibhlin said quietly, “It’s Niall Burke, isn’t it, Skye? Dear Lord, he didn’t take your virginity?”
Miserably, Skye shook her head. “He wanted to wed with me, Eibhlin. He was to speak with Da.”
“But he didn’t, or if he did Da said no. You’re married to Dom O’Flaherty, Skye. You must face it. It is your duty to be a good wife to him. He loves you and he is your lord in the eyes of the Church.”
“I cannot, Eibhlin! I simply cannot! I hate Dom, and I can’t bear his touch.”
“Some women are like that, Skye. Perhaps you are one.”
“No! When Niall Burke kissed me it was perfect! I wanted him! The way a woman wants a man … in marriage. But I don’t feel that way about Dom.”
“Go to sleep, little one,” said the nun soothingly. “In a few hours’ time you must hostess your wedding feast.”
Sighing, Skye lay back. The herbs were doing their work, and suddenly she fell asleep, her face still wet with tears. Eibhlin shook her head. What on earth possessed Da to insist on this marriage, knowing Skye was so against it? He had always indulged his youngest daughter, adoring her lavish beauty, delighting in her love of the sea. He had never before forced her into something.
Eibhlin speculated. Perhaps their father wanted the last of Peigi O’Malley’s daughters out of his house so that he could be free to enjoy his second wife, and his five sons. At any rate, though she would never admit it to Skye, the nun shared her sister’s dislike of O’Flaherty. He was stubborn, far too vain, and for all his fine education, woefully ignorant. Eibhlin sighed. There was simply no help for it. It was a man’s world, and a decent woman was either a wife or a nun. Perhaps, she thought wistfully, it would be different someday. Eibhlin went back to the chapel to pray for her sister. There was nothing else she could do.
When Skye awoke several hours later, the terrible reality of her situation swept over her once more. Her knowledge of men was limited, but she instinctively understood that her husband was the sort of man who preyed on the weak and helpless. Dom liked winning. She must not let him know how upset she was.
Slowly she rose from the bed, feeling just slightly dizzy, and bathed her face in rose water. Still unlaced, she breathed deeply, clearing her head. She whirled at the sound of the door behind her, furious that her privacy was to be so quickly disturbed. “How dare you enter my chamber!”
He smiled lazily. “You forget, Skye pet, that I have the right to enter your chamber whenever I choose to do so. I am your husband.”
She shivered. “I forget nothing, Dom,” she bravely answered. He moved toward her, and her courage cracked. “Don’t come near me!” She backed away from him, but he kept on until she felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her legs. The look in his eyes terrified her, and she had to force herself to stand straight, to look directly at him. She could hear the sound of her own heart drumming in her ears.
“Your maiden shyness pleases me—to a point, Skye.” His hand caressed her cheek, slid down her neck to her shoulder, then gripped the soft flesh. “I am your husband and I will brook no disobedience from you. Your father has spoiled you badly, but I will not. I will school you as I do the bitches in my kennel, and you will do your duty by me. When you err, I shall punish you. Do you understand me, Skye?”
“Yes, Dom.” Her eyes were lowered in apparent compliance, but really to hide her smoldering hatred.
“Good,” he said, his voice softening a little. “Now come here to me, pet.” He took her chin between his fingers and forced her head up. His wet mouth ground on hers, and his tongue forced itself between her clenched teeth. She shivered with revulsion. The wet lips were on her throat. He pushed her onto the bed and, atop her, pulled down her gown, exposing the small, perfect breasts. His mouth opened to capture a little pink nipple, and she screamed.
He stopped, raised his eyes, and looked down on her. “Please Dom, we must face our guests.” Groaning with frustration, he stood up slowly and, giving her a venomous look, stumbled from the room.
Outside in the hallway he stopped a moment to catch his breath, to massage the ache in his groin. She was right, damn her! He didn’t dare take her until tonight, but he needed to cool the fire in his loins! At that moment his wife’s buxom maid came around the corner.
Dom O’Flaherty’s blue eyes narrowed speculatively, and a quick winning smile lit his features. Molly stopped, eyed him, and instantly ascertained his need. Wordlessly she took his hand and led him around the corner into a darkened alcove. She loosened his codpiece, and gasped with delight. “Oh, my Lord! You’ll more than do!
” her arms slid up around his neck and she whispered excitedly, “Give us a kiss, love.” He bent to find her mouth, all the while fumbling to raise her petticoats. He backed her up against the stone castle wall, and Molly wrapped her legs about his waist. Clasping the plump cheeks of her buttocks in his hands, Dom O’Flaherty buried himself deep in the servant girl’s willing warmth. He worked himself back and forth, not caring that he was banging her head against the wall. She moaned, half with pleasure and half with pain. He obtained his release quickly. Molly was set back down on her feet and, straightening his garments, O’Flaherty left her without so much as a word or a glance. Molly slipped to the floor, whimpering.
Skye, who seldom prayed outside church, was thanking every saint in the calendar for her temporary reprieve. Tonight there would be no reprieve. She would be forced to submit to whatever it was men did with women. She had some vague ideas, but her sisters had never discussed sex, and Anne had not gotten around to enlightening her. She was going to be at Dom’s mercy.
She took her brush and removed the tangles from her hair. Then, smoothing the wrinkles from her wedding gown, Skye opened the door and left her room. Dom appeared from the darkness and, arm in arm, they descended into the hall below to greet their guests.
The festivities had begun without them, and a cry went up as they entered. Dubhdara O’Malley, already half drunk, lurched forward and escorted his daughter and her new husband to the high board. Skye was horrified to find herself with her husband on her right and Lord Burke on her left.
“Good evening, Mistress O’Flaherty. My best wishes on your future happiness,” he said formally.
“Thank you, my lord,” she answered. She dared not look at him lest she begin to weep again, but her hand shook as she reached for her goblet. Noting this, his heart contracted painfully.
The O’Malley of Innisfana had spared no expense. Huge bowls of raw oysters, platters of prawns and shrimp boiled in white wine and herbs, were set on all the tables. Whole sea trout broiled and stuffed, first with salmon then with smaller fresh-water trout, and finally with small shellfish, were placed at intervals on the tables. The bridegroom stuffed himself with raw oysters, loudly reminding everyone of their aphrodisiac quality.
The next course consisted of whole swans, capons in a lemon-ginger sauce, larded ducks, plump golden broiled pigeons, whole baby lambs, sides of half-cooked beef dripping their fat and bloody juices, potted rabbits, small pasties of minced meats, bowls of new lettuces and small green onions in vinegar; silver trenchers of bread and crocks of sweet butter. No one went thirsty, for silver pitchers of wine, both red and white, and earthenware pitchers of ale were placed on all the tables and kept filled.
The last course consisted of shaped jellies in all colors, custards, fruit pies, wheels of sharp cheeses, sweet cherries from France, and oranges from Spain. The chef, hired for the occasion, had done himself splendid credit with a magnificent marzipan confection. Its top decoration depicted a married couple, the bridegroom’s codpiece conspicuously large, the bride with a coy smile upon her face, her eyes fixed on the bulge.
Toast after toast was drunk. Some were ribald, some thoughtful. Finally Dom O’Flaherty turned to his bride. “Go prepare yourself for me, pet. I am well fed by your father’s gracious bounty. Now I would feast on your sweet flesh.”
Her cheeks reddened and she shivered. “I must bathe,” she answered. “There was no time this morning.”
“How long?”
“An hour.”
“Half, Skye. I will be denied no longer.”
She stood, and immediately a shout went up. Gathering her skirts up, Skye fled the hall followed by her sisters and, behind them, a group of laughing young men. If they caught the bride or any of her maids, they would be allowed a kiss as forfeit. With incredible swiftness the O’Malley sisters gained Skye’s chamber—where the young couple would spend their wedding night—and slammed the door, successfully shutting out the young men.
Before the fireplace a small steaming tub of water stood ready.
Skye looked gratefully to her servant. “Bless you, Molly, you anticipated me.”
“Knew you didn’t have time before,” replied the maid, helping Skye undress. The sisters busied themselves putting Skye’s beautiful gown away and straightening the chamber. Sine took the warming pan and ran it smoothly beneath the bedcovers. “Nothing cools a man’s ardor like cold sheets,” she observed.
Skye kept her mind on her bath. If she allowed herself to think of what was coming she would go to pieces. She glanced about her bedchamber. Aside from the flowering branches placed there in keeping with the old pagan fertility ritual, it seemed the same. The large black oak bedstead, hung with azure blue velvet, had been freshly made with fine linen sheets redolent of lavender. The tall matching armoire was now empty, of course, her clothing having been packed for transport to her new home. She washed quickly, stepping out of her tub into a warmed towel. Her lovely body was rosy from the heat of the water. Molly quickly dried her and lavishly applied scented powder with a lamb’s wool puff. The sisters sneezed as the excess filled the air.
“Open the window a bit,” commanded Moire. “And fetch the silk robe, Molly.”
Skye flushed. “Oh, no, Moire! Not that, for pity’s sake.”
“Skye!” Moire’s voice was sharp. “It’s an O’Malley family custom, and we have all followed it. Lord, sister, you’re the fairest of us all. There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of, lass.”
“But for all those leering men to see me naked!”
“We O’Malleys are proud to show we come to our husbands unblemished. You will follow the custom as we all have.” The silk robe was loosely wrapped around the bride, and then Moire said, “Peigi, unbolt the door. I hear the men coming.”
Peigi had no sooner stepped back from the door when it burst open and the laughing guests poured into the little room. Dom O’Flaherty had already been partially disrobed by his friends. Dubhdara O’Malley stepped up to his youngest daughter. He was very drunk, but he could yet play his part.
He held his hand up for silence, and the room quieted. “This is the last of me daughters to be wed. As with all my girls, I am proud to show that she comes unblemished, and free of pock marks, to her bridegroom.” He nodded to Moire and Peigi, who drew the simple robe from Skye and let it slip to the floor. The girl was now completely naked. As she turned, the sisters held up Skye’s long dark tresses to show the assembled guests that nothing was hidden beneath her hair. In the candlelight, her beautiful body glowed like mother-of-pearl.
An audible sigh rippled through the room as the men and women admired and envied the young virgin’s perfection. The bridegroom was visibly affected. Skye was exquisite, with her small, pink-tipped breasts, her slim, long legs ending in slender, high-arched feet.
Suddenly the guests were thrown into shock as Niall Burke pushed forward, boldly allowed his silver eyes to slide over the bride, and announced, “O’Malley! As your overlord I claim the droit du seigneur of this woman.”
The master of Innisfana swallowed hard. “A poor jest, my lord,” he replied, now very sober. He was hoping to God that Burke was only drunk, but he knew Burke wasn’t. “My daughter’s no peasant wench,” he stated firmly.
Lord Burke drew himself up to his full imposing height. His proud glance swept the room. “I am your overlord, Dubhdara O’Malley. You swore obedience to me on my tenth birthday. It was by my most generous hand that you received this barony of Innisfana. Our laws demand that you comply with my request.”
“No!” shouted Dom. “She’s mine! Mine! And I am not your vassal.”
Lord Burke looked scornfully at the younger man. “I will remind you, O’Flaherty, that your family owes obedience to my father—whose deputy I am. I claim the droit du seigneur of your bride. Will either of you gentlemen endanger your families and insult me over a girl’s maidenhead? Besides, O’Flaherty, when I am finished schooling her she’ll be much more to your taste. You are not, I un
derstand, very good with virgins.”
There was a sharp intake of breath around the room. Dubhdara O’Malley shifted uncomfortably. Then suddenly it came to him that the final decision rested with his new son-in-law. “I yield to you, my lord,” he said quickly, nearly sighing with relief.
The complete silence in the hot little room was finally broken by Dom’s voice. “I’ll pay a penalty, my lord,” said Dom. “You have but to name it.”
Niall Burke eyed Dom arrogantly, then drawled, “Your life, or the wench’s maidenhead.”
A gasp went up. This was high drama, the sort of thing that would be spoken of for years to come in both the halls and hovels of Ireland. Why was Lord Burke so intent on having the bride? To be sure, she was a lovely creature, but it was very rare for an overlord to claim the droit du seigneur of a vassal’s bride.
Dom O’Flaherty whitened, then reddened, with fear and helpless rage. His eyes swept over Skye, then back to Lord Burke. He pictured them locked in an embrace. Damn the bastard! thought Dom. He’s got me trapped! At last he said savagely, “I yield. And damn you to hell, my lord Burke!” Turning, he stamped from the chamber, followed quickly by the O’Malley and the rest of the guests.
Niall Burke walked slowly to the door of the room and, shutting it, slammed the bolt home. Turning back, he looked at Skye. Throughout the whole exchange, she had remained as silent and still as a hiding rabbit. “I do mean to take you,” he said quietly.
Her eyes were enormous, blue-green against her white face. “I know,” she answered softly. “You’ll have to tell me what to do. No one has ever told me what is required, and I am very ignorant. Anne didn’t have time to explain,” she finished helplessly.
A warm smile lit his features, and he was suddenly her Niall again. “I think, sweetheart,” he said in a kindly voice, “that the first thing would be to get you into bed. You look chilled.” With a sweeping movement he pulled the covers back and, scooping her up, gently tucked her beneath the down coverlet.
Skye O'Malley Page 4
