Eibhlin wanted desperately to talk to her, but Skye suddenly looked older, and very forbidding. The young nun was suddenly sad. What could she possibly say to cheer her sister? What did you say to a woman forcibly married to one man when she deeply loved another? Once again, Eibhlin felt the frustration of being a woman in a man’s world. Again she asked herself why it was so.
Then Eibhlin saw a terrible bruise beginning to form on Skye’s left cheekbone. Silently the nun dipped her handkerchief in the icy cold sea and, squeezing it out, wordlessly handed it to her sister. A brief smile was her thanks, as Skye took the wet cloth and held it to her injured face.
Innishturk came closer, then closer, and soon the little boat was scudding up onto the beach. Eibhlin was lifted out. In her element now, she commanded, “Bring Mistress Skye’s trunk, Connor. Padraic, you stay with the boat.”
“Yes, Sister.” “Aye, Sister.”
Skye swung herself over the side of the boat and dropped lightly to the sand. She knew the way quite well, for she had often come with her father to see Eibhlin. Silently she trudged up the path from the beach. At the cliff top she undid a small wicket gate, and held it open for her sister and the panting Connor. The gate swung shut, and they were on the convent grounds.
Ahead of them stood St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, built over one hundred years before. The convent was built around a quadrangle, the four towers of its corners rising stark against the sky. The dark gray stones of the main building were weathered by the wind and the sea. There were several outbuildings for the convent livestock, a bakehouse and a washhouse. At the convent portal—a double oaken door bounded in brass—they stopped.
“Connor will have to wait here,” said Eibhlin. “I’ll send someone to bring your trunk.”
“I’ll wait with him,” said Skye quietly. “If I am to be cloistered for a month I’d just as soon postpone my captivity.”
Eibhlin did not argue. She pulled on the bell. When it was answered by the portress, she entered hurriedly.
Alone with Skye, Connor observed, “Strange place for a honeymoon if you ask me.”
“I didn’t!” snapped Skye, “but it’s as good a place as any when you’re wed to the wrong man. Repeat that, you old gossip, and I’m sure to be beaten for it.”
“The O’Malley never laid a hand on you in your life, lass!”
“No, he didn’t, but the little bastard he’s married me to did. The bruise on my cheek is a mark of his affection.”
Connor saw nothing wrong with a man occasionally giving his woman a clout to keep her in line, but he was truly shocked that a bridegroom would beat his bride of one day. Mistress Skye was not just any lass. She was special. Besides, he was related to her maid, Molly, who’d barely survived her night with O’Flaherty. Better to warn the young mistress.
“I’d best say this straight out, lass, so’s you’ll be on your guard. O’Flaherty took Molly to his bed last night. Fair killed her too. Made her do all kinds of things no decent man would ask of a woman. Then he beat her half to death and kicked her out. When you’ve got to go back to him, be careful.”
Skye’s face betrayed no emotion. “Will Molly be all right?”
“Her bruises will heal.”
“Tell her if she chooses not to serve me anymore I’ll understand. If that is her decision she may remain at the castle to serve my stepmother. Tell the lady Anne that I will need a stout serving woman of middle years and plain countenance. If I am forced to return to him, I would not expose another young girl to O’Flaherty.”
The convent portal creaked open again and Eibhlin came forward, escorted by two stout nuns. Skye bid Connor farewell, then followed her sister through the door. Her trunk would be brought in by the other nuns.
The two sisters walked silently through the long hallway until they came to a heavy oak door. Eibhlin rapped on the door. A voice bid them enter, and they obeyed.
Seated in a chair was one of the most beautiful women Skye had ever seen. Her oval face was serene beneath the white wimple, with its starched and pleated white wings. Her black habit was relieved of its severity by a stiff white rectangle of a bib upon which rested an ebony crucifix banded in silver, a silver lily on its face. Kneeling, Eibhlin caught the aristocratic hand and kissed the silver-and-onyx ring of office.
“Rise, my daughter,” came a cool, cultivated voice.
“Reverend Mother, may I present my sister, Skye. Skye, this is the Reverend Mother Ethna.”
“Thank you, Sister Eibhlin. You may return to your duties now. Mistress Monahan from our village went into labor this morning, and you have our permission to attend her.”
Eibhlin bowed herself out, and the Reverend Mother Ethna waved Skye to a chair. “Welcome to St. Bride’s of the Cliffs, Lady O’Flaherty. Your father has already apprised us of the reason for your visit. We will endeavor to make you as comfortable as possible.”
“Thank you,” Skye said tonelessly.
Quiet brown eyes surveyed Skye, and the nun appeared to be debating with herself. Then she said, “I was Ethna O’Neill before I took the veil. It was my niece to whom Lord Burke was betrothed. She never knew him, but I did. He has a most winning way about him.” A small smile played about the corners of her mouth.
“We met but a short time ago,” said Skye, softening somewhat. “I don’t know what happened to us, but we are in love. Da simply would not listen. Niall wants to have my marriage annulled so we may wed.”
The nun shook her head. “Perhaps he can arrange it, or at least get the proceedings started while you’re here.”
“You’re the first person who’s not told me that the MacWilliam won’t let his heir marry with an O’Malley of Innisfana.”
The Reverend Mother laughed. “Ah, these men and their pride! Take heart, my daughter. The MacWilliam is a stern man, but he loves his son. But tell me, child, have you no feeling for your young husband?”
“I do not love Dom, nor did I ever wish to wed with him. I begged my father not to force me to it, even before I met Niall Burke. In fact, I did not wish to wed at all until I met Niall. I do not believe a woman should have to spend her life with someone she dislikes.”
“So,” chuckled the nun, “you’re a revolutionary like your sister, Lady O’Flaherty.”
“No. And please, I beg of you, Reverend Mother, do not call me Lady O’Flaherty. I shall never acknowledge Dom’s name as mine. I am Skye O’Malley!”
“Very well, Skye O’Malley, we shall try to make your stay with us as pleasant as possible.” The nun picked up a bell and rang it sharply. It was instantly answered by a little novice. “Sister Feldelm, this is Skye O’Malley, Sister Eibhlin’s sister. She is sheltering with us for several weeks. The West Tower guest suite has been prepared for her. Will you please escort her there?”
“Yes, Reverend Mother,” said the novice, bobbing a curtsey. “If you’ll come along with me, Mistress O’Malley.”
“You are free to go wherever you chose on the grounds, Skye, and the chapel and public rooms of the convent are open to you. You need not keep to your rooms.”
“Thank you.” Skye turned to follow Sister Feldelm.
“My daughter, I shall pass on to you any information I receive.”
Skye flashed her a small smile, then followed the novice out.
How sad, thought the Reverend Mother. Another young woman pushed into an unhappy marriage. She wondered what the MacWilliam would do. She knew what he would not do. He would not let Niall have Skye, for he sought a better match for his heir. Damn him and the others like him for the fools they were! Hadn’t they yet learned that overbred wenches invariably proved to be bad breeders? A good sturdy lass of less elegant lineage made a better wife.
The Reverend Mother Ethna realized that beneath the gallant defiance, Skye O’Malley was a frightened and desperate girl. If the child was to be disappointed, best she learn it now so she might face her grief with the nuns. In the time she was with them, they could, with the grace of God, help
her make peace with herself.
Alone in her apartment Skye inspected her surroundings. There were two rooms, a good-sized dayroom, and a small bedroom. Both had fireplaces. The bedroom fireplace was set into the corner. The room held only a big oak bed with claret velvet hangings. There was no room for any other furniture. The size of the bed amused and puzzled Skye until it dawned on her that the convent probably relied on the generosity of its friends to furnish its rooms. Giggling to herself, she wondered what the nuns thought of the great bed. It faced the one small window in the bedroom, and looked out over the sea.
The dayroom was a bright, pleasant room with windows on two sides. They faced north, giving a far view of her home on Innisfana Island, and west across the open sea into the setting sun. On the east wall of the room was a large stone fireplace flanked by two great carved winged angels. To the north of the fireplace was the stout oak door that served as an entry.
On the opposite side of the fireplace a small floor-to-ceiling bookcase had been built into the wall, matching a larger one that shared the south wall with the paneled bedroom door. Before the lead paned western windows was a polished oak refectory table with armchairs at the head and foot. To one side of the fireplace was a settle and on the other a comfortable chair. There was a large carved chest, and in the space between the windows stood a little prie-dieu with an embroidered cushion. Skye’s trunk had been placed in the bedroom, beneath the window.
The convent’s benefactors had been more than generous. Heavy claret-red velvet draperies hung from all the windows, and a large Turkey carpet in reds and blues was spread across the floor, matching a smaller one in the bedroom. Skye later learned that the O’Neills had furnished the West Tower’s guest quarters when their own Ethna became the head of St. Bride’s of the Cliffs.
Skye’s days quickly took on a comfortable pattern. She rose early, and attended mass in the convent’s chapel. She was not particularly religious, but she prayed now that Niall would soon come for her. Afterward she obtained her own breakfast from the kitchen and went off by herself to walk across the convent grounds. A small sailboat belonging to the order was placed at her disposal, and Skye spent many hours sailing and fishing to pass the time. The convent soon enjoyed a number of fresh seafood dinners courtesy of their young guest.
The main meal of the day was served at two in the afternoon, and Skye ate it alone in her dayroom. The evening meal was served after vespers, and sometimes Eibhlin joined her young sister. Otherwise Skye was again alone.
The convent had a surprisingly fine library, and the bookshelves in Skye’s dayroom were also well filled. On very wet days, she read. Skye O’Malley was a well-educated woman for her day. She could speak her native Gaelic as well as English, French, and Latin. She could write, and though she might not sew as fine a seam as her sisters did, her needlework was passable and she could knit.
She knew how to run a household, understanding provisioning, salting, conserving, preserving, soap-making, and perfume-making. She knew the rudiments of brewing and household medicine. She had been taught to keep accounts, for O’Malley firmly believed that the only way to avoid being cheated by one’s own steward was to do one’s own household accounts. And as if that were not enough, Skye was one of the finest navigators her father had ever sailed with. The O’Malley often joked that he thought his daughter could smell out her ship’s destination.
Though she saw the nuns as she moved through the uneventful pattern of her days, Skye actually spent most of her time alone. The order of St. Bride’s was not a cloistered one, nor was it a begging order. The nuns were workers, devoted first to their God and second to the poor. Some of the nuns were teachers and others gave medical aid to the surrounding area. The rest farmed for the convent, cooked, knitted, sewed, and did the farm and household chores.
Skye adapted instantly, and entered into the spirit of the convent, doing her share of fishing, snaring rabbits, and one day even bringing down a young buck. The venison was a rare treat for the nuns.
Skye needed that constant physical activity. Had she not worked so hard she might never have slept. Why had Niall not communicated with her? Surely he understood the anguish she was feeling. He could not, she was sure, have made love to her with such exquisite delicacy while intending to leave her forever.
It might have eased her mind to know that Niall Burke suffered no less than she did. He had clawed his way up through the swirling darkness to discover himself trussed like a damned Christmas goose on a cockle of a boat that was bouncing all over the ocean. The bearded captain of the little boat gave him a wicked but sympathetic grin.
“So, you’re awake, me lord.”
“Where the hell am I?” snarled Niall. “Unloose me at once!”
The captain looked unhappy. “Ah, now, your worship, I can’t do that. If I were to unloose you, and you became violent, which I can see you’re sure to do, I’d be in terrible trouble. Take Lord Burke home to the MacWilliam was what the O’Malley told me to do, and that’s just what I’ll do.”
“At least sit me up, man, and give me a dram. I’m cramped, my head feels like the little people are mining gold inside it, and I’m not sure I won’t be seasick.”
Captain MacGuire chuckled. “All right, lad. You don’t ask a great deal of a man, and I’m no fool to make you any more uncomfortable than you already are.” Bending, he hauled Niall into a sitting position, his back against the mast, and held a flask to his lips.
Niall gratefully swallowed several gulps of the smoky, peat-scented whiskey. It hit the pit of his stomach like a burning rock, but almost immediately it began to spread its warmth through his cramped, wet body. “So the O’Malley sent me home?” he said thoughtfully.
“Aye, me lord, and you’ve slept as peaceful as a babe most of the way. We’re just about there.”
Niall craned his neck and looked to the coast, but he was not a sailor and the distant landscape looked all the same to him. “How long?” he demanded.
“A bit,” came the infuriatingly vague answer. “See that little point over there? Once we’re around it you’re home. That’s where we’ll land, and then I’ll walk you from there. I’ve a message to deliver to the MacWilliam.”
“Walk!” Niall exploded. “We’ll take the first available horses we can find. The MacWilliam’s stronghold is a good stretch of the legs from the sea, man. Do you ride?”
“About as good as you sail, laddie.”
“Then God help you, MacGuire! You’ll soon be as uncomfortable as I am now!”
When they finally reached shore the captain untied his passenger and helped him from the boat. Niall Burke rubbed his wrists where the ropes had chafed him. He was anxious to be home so he might speak with his father. He clambered up the hillside from the beach.
Without even looking to see if MacGuire was with him, Niall strode quickly away, following a faint path. After about a half-hour they came in view of a thatched roofed farmhouse. Next to the farmhouse bloomed a kitchen garden of herbs, carrots, and other root vegetables, cress, and a few bright flowers. The nearby fields, well kept, were already colored with barley and rye. And in a pasture just beyond the garden a dozen sleek horses grazed peacefully. There was no sign of life, though MacGuire could have sworn he had seen smoke coming from the chimney. “Ho! The house! ’Tis Niall Burke, and a friend.”
After a long moment the farmhouse door swung open, and a big man stepped out. He called back out into the house, “It’s all right, Maeve. It’s his lordship.” The man came forward, a grin on his face, and clasped Niall’s hand in his own large bearlike paw. “Welcome, my lord! How may we serve you?”
“I need two horses, Brian. This evil-looking fellow is Captain MacGuire, one of the O’Malley’s men. He’ll return the horses to you later.”
“At once, my lord. If you’re not in too great a hurry, the wife is just taking bread from the oven.”
Niall Burke’s silvery eyes crinkled in appreciation. “Ah,” he breathed. “Maeve’s bread
with her own honey! Come on, MacGuire! I’ve a treat for you, despite the fact that you’ve treated me badly.” The captain in his wake, he burst through the door and swept up a sparrow of a woman into his embrace. He held her high above him, lowering her to smack kisses on both of her flushed cheeks while she laughed and scolded him to put her down. “I’ve come for your virtue—and your fine bread, Maeve love!” he teased, returning her to her feet.
She gave him a friendly whack, and said, “None of your naughtiness now, Master Niall. ’Tis long past time you grew up. Come along with you, and your friend too. Sit down. The bread’s just from the oven.”
They obeyed her and sat. Niall, turning to MacGuire, explained, “Maeve was my nurse until I was seven. Then she deserted me to wed with Brian. As a boy, I used to come here often, for she bakes the best bread in the district. And for some reason her bees make the best honey you’ve ever tasted.”
“It’s the salt air,” said Maeve. “It gives the honey a wee bit of a nip.”
MacGuire shortly found that Lord Burke was no liar, and he said to Maeve, “If you had a daughter who could bake half as well as you do, mistress, I’d wed with her in a thrice.”
Maeve flushed with pleasure. “If you return this way, Captain, stop for a meal with us.”
“Thank you, mistress, and I will!”
“The horses are ready, my lord,” called Brian from the doorway.
Niall Burke stood up, licking a drop of honey from his finger like a small boy. “Let’s go, MacGuire. I’m anxious to be home!”
The captain was surprised to see two fine, well-bred mounts waiting. They mounted and, with a wave to Brian, rode off.
“Your peasants must be prosperous to have any horses at all, let alone such fine ones,” observed MacGuire as they cantered along.
“These are our horses,” answered Burke. “We keep good horses with several specially chosen families for just such purposes as these. That way, we’re never stranded.” He then spurred his horse to a gallop. “Come on, man,” he called to the captain, who was bouncing up and down on his mount, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m for home!”
Skye O'Malley Page 6
