Skye O'Malley

by Bertrice Small

  “Then you did not betray me to get me out of the house?”

  “You foolish goose! Whatever made you think such a thing? Once you were firmly wed there was nothing I could do. I only wish your father had waited. Even though he was firmly set on the match, perhaps I could have prevented the afterward.”

  “No,” said Skye softly. “At least with Niall Burke I learned that love can be sweet—not true, but sweet. Had it not been for him, I might have gone my whole life believing all men were animals.”

  “Some men are more vigorous in bed than others, Skye.”

  “Dom is a pig,” was the flat reply.

  “Why do you hate Niall if you’re grateful to him?”

  Skye’s eyes blazed blue fire, and her voice was rock hard. “Because he betrayed me! Because he swore he loved me! Because he promised to have my marriage annulled, to wed with me. Instead he crept from my side before the dawn without even so much as a good-bye kiss and rode merrily home to wed his high O’Neill! I will never forgive him for that, Anne! Never!”

  In the silence that followed, Anne O’Malley struggled terribly with her conscience. She knew the full truth. Finally she decided that silence was the best policy. To tell Skye the truth now would do nothing more than hurt and anger her further. Nothing could be changed now. Skye was wed, and pregnant with her husband’s child. Niall Burke was wed. If either of them learned now of the deception that had been practiced on them it would only cause greater unhappiness. Who knew what those two strong-willed, passionate people would do if they ever learned the truth?

  Anne was saved from further talk by the announcement that dinner was served. Once in the banquet hall they separated, for in deference to the O’Malley’s value to the MacWilliam, O’Malley and his wife were seated higher up on the board than Skye and Dom, who were seated much below the salt. Dom, however, cared not one whit, for thanks to his wife’s beauty and wit, he was very much the center of a gay group of young people, some of whom were well-endowed wenches with bold eyes. He anticipated a pleasant Twelve Days of Christmas.

  And Skye sparkled, determined to show Niall how indifferent she was. It seemed to those who sat in the more favored places at the table that those below the salt were having a far better time than those above it. There was simply no denying that young Lady O’Flaherty was a delightful and charming beauty.

  Skye ate carefully, taking of the first course only a thin slice of fresh salmon, and of the second only the wing of a lemoned capon. She ate two small pieces of newly baked brown bread, liberally spreading the butter across it with her thumb. Around her, the other guests gorged themselves on dish after dish, but Skye was revolted by the overrich menu. When the sweet was served she enjoyed a small tart of dried peaches, licking the clotted cream from about her mouth like a child. Watching her from the high board, Niall longed to kiss that mouth as much as he longed to strangle her for her perfidy.

  As the meal drew to a close, more of those seated above the salt began drifting farther down the table to cluster about Skye. Occasionally great bursts of laughter issued forth from the group. When the dancing began Skye refused all but the least strenuous dances, but even so she never lacked for partners. She moved proudly, and with much grace, her gown showing to great advantage. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her smile flashed again and again.

  At the high board Niall Burke sprawled in his chair, glowering, his big hand clutching his jewel-studded goblet so hard it was a wonder the stem was not bent. His silver-gray eyes, pantherlike, half closed, followed her wherever she went. Occasionally he took great gulps of the dark red wine, emptying and refilling his cup several times. She was beautiful, damn her, and even in her present state outrageously desirable.

  “Young Lady O’Flaherty is most popular,” ventured Darragh.

  “Aye,” he growled, suddenly standing up and striding away from his wife to join the dancers. The young man partnering Skye suddenly felt a hard hand on his shoulder. Looking up to see his scowling, black-browed host, the young man quickly stepped aside. Niall clamped an arm about her waist and took one of her hands in his. Her smile faltered, but she never missed a step.

  “Should you be dancing?”

  “I am expecting a child, my lord. I am not mortally ill with a wasting sickness.”

  “You’ve changed, Skye.”

  “Nay, my lord. I have simply learned not to put my faith in pillow talk.”

  They separated, and she wove in and out of the figure, meeting him again on the other side.

  “I find it hard,” he said, “to understand the workings of a fickle woman’s mind. You behave as though I rejected you instead of the other way around.”

  “You betrayed me. You left me without even a good-bye, and hurried home to wed and bed your ‘dead’ fiancée! I had no chance to reject you, but I do now!”

  “I was not betrothed to Darragh O’Neill until after your marriage, Skye. It was her dead sister, Ceit, who was to be my wife.”

  Again they were separated by the figure. When they met again, he said, “I would never have wed Darragh had it not been for your letter.”

  Skye stopped dead. “What letter?” she demanded of him.

  One look at her face told Niall Burke that something was very wrong, but they were in a roomful of people, some of whom were eying them with speculative curiosity. “But of course you’re exhausted, in your condition, Lady O’Flaherty. Allow me to escort you to a seat, and get you some chilled wine,” he said loudly, leading her from the floor. He found her a seat within a windowed alcove. Though they were plainly visible to the entire room, they had the privacy to talk without being overheard. Niall snatched two goblets of wine from a passing valet, and handed her one.

  Understanding the need for deception, she leaned back with half-closed eyes feigning exhaustion. Her heart was hammering, not from weariness but from the sudden realization that they had probably been tricked. “What letter?” she asked again.

  “I did not leave you willingly, Skye. Your father sent a little lad up the vine outside your window, and the boy opened your bedchamber door to the O’Malley and his men. I was gagged, and taken from the room. I explained our plight to your father, but he would not listen. Rather he had me knocked unconscious, and taken home by one Captain MacGuire. The next day I was given a letter in which you repudiated our relationship. For God’s sake, Skye, the handwriting was feminine, and I recognized the seal as the one on your own ring.”

  “We all have these rings, Niall. All my sisters, even Eibhlin.”

  “I did not know,” he sighed deeply. “It would seem, my love, that those two old spiders, our fathers, have gotten their way by foul means. Damn them both!”

  “Do you love her, Niall?”

  “No. She was to be a nun, and in her heart she still is. She spends more time on her knees than in our bed.”

  “I’m glad!” she said fiercely, and he understood.

  “The child—?”

  “Is Dom’s. There is no doubt, Niall. I swear it! Do you think I would be here if it were not?”

  “Have you learned to love him then?”

  “I will never love him, but I am his wife as you are Darragh’s husband,” she said quietly. “And now, my lord, bid me good night, for we are fast becoming the center of curiosity in the hall and I see Dom coming.”

  “I will find another opportunity to speak with you,” he said. He did not leave her side, but stood waiting until Dom joined them. “Your wife is fatigued from the dancing, O’Flaherty. You must take good care of her since she carries your heir. You’re very fortunate in that respect.”

  Dom, taken off guard, was speechless. Niall bent over Skye’s hand, briefly but tenderly kissing it. “Good night, Lady O’Flaherty.” Then he was gone across the floor to rejoin the dancers.

  “Will you escort me to our room, Dom? I am very tired.” She fought to keep her voice flat. Dom must not know! Not even suspect!

  “Of course, my love,” he answered, his voice sweet. Helping
her up, he walked her slowly from the hall. When they had gained their room she asked him to call her maid. “Nay, love, I’ll maid you myself, Skye.” His voice had become soft and caressing. It was a dangerous sign. “There wasn’t a woman tonight who could compare with you,” he murmured. “Every man envied me my beautiful wife. Every one of them imagined what it would be like to stick himself in you, but I’m the only one who can do that, Skye, aren’t I?” He had her bodice unlaced now, and drew it off. His fingers swiftly drew her gown and her petticoats down and off. Then her chemise, and finally she stood naked and shivering in her embroidered stockings with their gold ribbon and silk rosette garters. Slowly he let his eyes wander over the new fullness of her breasts, and the sweet swelling of her belly. His hand caressed the living roundness, and Skye, barely breathing, prayed he would be satisfied by this show of ownership.

  “Kneel on the edge of the bed, Skye.”

  She shivered. “Dom, please! It’s not good for the child.”

  “Kneel, you little bitch! Or do you want me to believe what my eyes told me when I looked across the hall tonight to see the fine Lord Burke bending solicitously over my wife, ogling her tits? And you! You encouraged him!”

  “No! I didn’t!” Every muscle in her body tensed. Then, sighing, she knelt on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up beneath her. Her hands were clenched into tight balls. There was no fighting him. Resistance brought further punishment.

  He looked down at her, so meek, so obedient. He was angry with her, and tempted to sodomize her, for he knew how she hated that particular degradation. But he feared for the child. It was his son, and it bound her irrevocably to him. Without the child she might run to Niall Burke and become his leman, making the O’Flahertys the laughingstock of all Connaught.

  He did no more than loosen his codpiece and his organ, swollen already, burst forth. He saw her shiver again, and the feeling of power her fear gave him aroused him further. He easily found his way inside her, sliding his hands beneath her breasts to play with the very sensitive nipples while he moved himself with long smooth strokes. “Your hound does it this way to the bitches in my kennel. I’ve watched him many a time,” he murmured, biting the back of her neck. She said nothing. To her relief he was finished quickly. “I’m going back to the hall now,” he said. “Get some rest, Skye.” Fastening his clothes, he was gone.

  For a few moments she lay quietly, her face wet with silent tears. Then she stood and, removing her stockings, wrapped herself in a soft woolen robe before lying down again. If she could have boiled her body she would have done so, but even that would not rid her of the memory of his touch, the smell of his lust on her skin.

  She could not stop the tears from flowing. It had all been too much. Learning that her father and the MacWilliam had conspired to keep Niall from her had come close to breaking her heart all over again. It had been easier when she could simply hate Niall. Exhausted, she slept.

  The sudden sound of the door latch rasping woke her and she tensed. Dom was back, and probably drunk. She lay quietly, hoping he would believe she was sleeping.

  “Skye,” came the soft whisper.

  “Niall!” She sat up. “Are you mad? In God’s name go quickly before Dom returns! Please, my lord!”

  He shut the door quietly and drew the bolt closed. “Dom is lying in the hall in a drunken stupor with his friends. My page is watching. Should Dom awaken the lad will warn us long before he can get here.” Dearest Heaven, she was beautiful, her black cloud of hair swirling about her shoulders, her eyes enormous and dark with concern. Niall sat on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms. “You’ve been weeping.” It was a statement.

  “It was easier when I thought you’d betrayed me,” she said softly, believing he would understand.

  “For me also, my darling.” He reached out and caressed her dark hair.

  “Your wife—?” She had to ask.

  “Is keeping one of her interminable vigils in the chapel. She does it to avoid me, but I care not. Bedding her is like bedding a dead thing.”

  “Oh, Niall …” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

  “Skye! Ah, love, don’t weep! Damn, Skye, you’ll break my heart!” His mouth gently found hers. Sighing deeply, she slid her arms about his neck, and gave herself over into his keeping. His hand found the swell of her breast, and it seemed so natural, so right. She pulled her lips away from him long enough to whisper, “Yes, Niall! Oh, please love me!” Then her mouth fused fiercely to his again, and she was lost in a burst of searing passion that swept over her body instantly, nearly rendering her unconscious.

  His hand gently caressed the ripening mound. “I wish to Heaven he were mine,” he muttered huskily. “God! You’re so beautiful with the babe growing in you, like one of the old Celtic fertility goddesses.”

  “I prayed so hard,” she whispered. “When I was at St. Bride’s I prayed you’d gotten me with child. How I wept when I found it wasn’t so. Eibhlin says they feared for my sanity. Then Dom came …” her voice trailed off.

  “I’ll kill him,” Niall said quietly.

  “And what of your poor wife? Would you kill her also? What harm has that unfortunate creature done to either of us? You say she was to be a nun, and from what you tell me she had a true vocation. Has she not been harmed as deeply as we?” Skye drew a deep breath and pulled away from him, her blue eyes intent. “Niall! Oh, Niall, my love! We are inescapably wed to other people. There is no hope for us. I love you, Niall, but when I return to Ballyhennessey I want never to set eyes on you again. I cannot see you and keep my love for you from the world. Dom is already suspicious. I want no trouble between the two of you, for he is foolish and apt to be treacherous. I am not so innocent as to beg that you forget me. We will not forget, either of us, but we must part.”

  He pulled her back into his arms. “I cannot bear to lose you again,” he said brokenly.

  “Oh, my love, you never really had me,” she answered sadly.

  For a few minutes longer they clung to each other, unwilling for the bittersweet interlude to end. Then, kissing her tenderly, he laid her back against the pillows. “I’ll find other times during this visit when we can talk,” he said. “Promise me one thing, though. Promise me you’ll ask my help should you ever need it. I will not rest easy if you do not give me your word, Skye, and swear to it. I’ll not have O’Flaherty mistreating you.”

  “I do not fear Dom. As long as I play the beautiful and docile wife for him in public, his vanity is fed enough.” She would not tell him the truth, tell him of her husband’s degrading ways in their bed, for it would only infuriate Niall and there was nothing he could do about it. “Sit with me but a moment longer,” she begged. Smiling, he took her hand. She closed her eyes. Soon she was asleep. Gently drawing the featherbedding over her, he unbolted the door and slipped from the room.

  Making his way back to the banquet hall, Niall dismissed his page for the night. Then, turning to seek his own quarters, he almost collided with a young squire. “Your pardon, my lord, but the MacWilliam would see you.” Niall nodded and immediately sought the old man’s rooms.

  He found his father sitting up in bed, a nightcap upon his leonine head. His gouty foot was freshly bound, and he held a goblet in his hand. Niall bent and sniffed the cup. “I thought malmsey was bad for your foot,” he noted.

  “That quack of a doctor tells me everything is bad for my foot. I suppose if I could still fuck he’d tell me that was bad for my foot also,” was the flinty retort. The MacWilliam paused. “I would say that the beauteous young Lady O’Flaherty is bad for more than your foot, Niall, my son.”

  The two men eyed each other, and the MacWilliam sighed. “I was wrong to force you into marriage with the O’Neill lass. I can see O’Malley’s girl would have made you a better wife. Christ! Wed seven months, and already with child! And she carries the babe well. What a breeder! She’ll give O’Flaherty a houseful of sons, and still have a waist a man could span w
ith his two hands. And what a beauty … that hair, and those Kerry-blue eyes, and those marvelous tits! Damme, I wish I weren’t so old!”

  Niall laughed, but his father now continued in a more serious tone. “Keep away from her, Niall. O’Flaherty won’t wear the horns of a cuckold gracefully. He’d kill you if he catches you with his wife. I know you were with her in her bedchamber tonight while her husband lay drunk in the hall. Be careful, lad! You’re my only son, my heir, and I love you. Until you get a legitimate son, we’re not safe.”

  “Rest easy, Father. Skye and I but talked. If we had done it in public the gossips would have had a field day.”

  “You talked?! God’s nightshirt! If I were twenty years younger and alone with that beauty, it would not have been talking I’d have been doing!”

  Again Niall laughed. “Come, Father, she’s six months gone with child.”

  “There are ways, boy.”

  “I know, and perhaps if the child were mine—but it’s not. Besides,” and here Niall eyed his father firmly, “finding out the trick that you and O’Malley played to separate us has made Skye very vulnerable. I would not hurt her further. I love her.”

  “If she lost the babe then she’d be free of O’Flaherty,” said the old man slyly. “His wife, yes, but free to come to you … and she would. I’d recognize any bastards she gave you as my heirs, for I strongly doubt the O’Neill girl will ever conceive.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Father. If you think Skye worthy to bear our heirs, then surely she is worthy of our name as well. You see her as nothing but a brood mare who will secure our immortality, but I love Skye. I have never wanted any woman but her for my wife.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “But O’Flaherty is strong and healthy. He will probably live forever. She and I have no hope.”

  “His death could be arranged … but you’re too noble for your own good, Niall! Love has made you a weakling. If you don’t mean to claim the woman for your own, then keep away from her else her husband kills you in a fit of jealous rage,” growled the old man.